Poems from the Stream Two

I wrote more in one hour this time than I did in the entire stream last session! I had to cut it early, but I think I got some alright stuff. I was in a weird mood, so some of this is kind of playful. Posting this kind of unpolished work is a bit more honest in my mind. That said, I usually don’t edit my poetry much more than removing a few words here and there. Anyway, Hop you enjoy this week’s haul!



the big bomb started a chain reaction
now everyone’s got bombs
and they’ve all got threats

we’ve got to pop a bomb once in a while
so the fuckers know which one is biggest

bombs are planted in the mountains
under our cities
and at any moment
could turn us to dust

it’s cliche
but I feel like folks aren’t
familiar with the threat

these suckers kill millions
they’d flatten my city and everyone i know

and still some fuckers thing we should
erase north koreans like we’re
sitting in front of a chuck norris movie


nature is eating one of the biggest cities
in america

pumping dialysis machines full of
flood water, full of
tar and oil

the things that keep people alive
by removing garbage from their blood
are sucking up
street trash
rat piss

what are we supposed to fear?


everything that happens in bars
is a lie
they’re all dreams

if you bought a beer
in a building that isn’t your home
you’re sleeping

all products of folks who had an
and telling

the real shit happens in the woods
when you can see the milky way

but I can say that
either way
no matter where you are
whatever you’re writing
is better than this shit.


the hurricane left us to
scavenge and steal
like a civil war between
man and mother

long over
still killing our young
unable to flee

remember the alamo
remember bucees


we live in a new age
because now days
we aren’t saved by heros
or tortured by barbaric rulers

when we need a hand
our homes are rotten
we can’t escape

crawling through mud
a lighter revealing the
lack of escape route
helicopters carrying
drinking pond scum
families away in baskets

you and i rely on
walmart and the home depot
to come to our rescue

all hail the aisles of food
glory be to the bidder on high
gloria we sing crowded around
the almighty gift card


the long dirt road
leading in to endless tall trees
sings to you
gets up and stands before you
lit by your headlights

no one knew where you were going
but you have to turn back

“you have to turn back”
she says

in her filthy white dress
black gums with yellow teeth
her voice gritty

she takes a drink of you
pops your head open
and sips

“or, maybe you should stay”
she says

she slowly walks back
away from the window
and drops to the ground
where she’d left a gaping hole

“maybe you should stay”
she says
as she once more becomes the
road you know


do we need a building in the
smack dab fucking
center of our town
that’s painted like a cow?

green roof, black and white
splotched walls
nothing but shit on the inside

how fucking brash



in the room with the radio
where it hurts your ears
that’s where i sit

i can’t hear it over
the ringing in my skull
but i don’t think i should leave

i like it dark
the blanket smells nice
the radio
tells me stories of the outside
and i don’t want to go

maybe i’ll paint
maybe my walls will be green
with a painting around the whole
of me, back in world war 1
when i saw everyone die

the gas stuck in my lungs
i hear there’s something new
in the works
that will scare the shit
out of anyone who thinks
they can do this too me again

so I’m going to sit in my
listening to the ringing of my


wood floors cover the cellar
where the last bottle of wine
on earth is stored

it hides in the breast of
a skeleton’s jacket

should he bring a coat
and tie
to the interview?

does he need this job that bad?

dirt floor
stone walls
shredded wood stands
glass shards and vinegar

the skeleton sits
quietly waiting
holding his bottle of wine
dressed for the job
the occasion


more than ever
mood tends to ruin the occasion

someone gets upset that
their order was wrong
their drink isn’t strong
their driver took too long

i want to paint you a picture
and i can’t
because i can’t see it

i see writers in paris
i see soldiers in japan
i see cowboys headed to canada
but i don’t see my painting
and i can’t reveal it for you

because my mind is drenched
in the light of my mood

i’m awake
and working
things taste good again

but i can’t put these strokes
on canvas
even though all i want to do
is show you this picture


what if that senator
isn’t so bad?

there were all these songs
decades ago about
politicians being evil

but they’re peons trapped
by business

it seems like folks
get the nature of the game
these days
but still blame the
senator or governer

the poor shmuck
has a family
wife and kids
old and dying parents
bit off more than
they could chew
with their house payment
like the rest of us

is someone told me
they were going to
pay me a butt fuck ton
of cash to do something
at my job
that wasn’t that popular
i’d take the fuckin money


ash pours from the mother’s mouth
gray soot puffs from her lungs
over her tongue
into the daughter’s face
sticking behind the daughter’s teeth
down the back of her throat

blood is on the floor
men are banging at the door
the ash blows aside
as it sweeps open

the men
pure fire
burn down the home
around the two

but the ash from the mother
suffocates their flame
one by one
the men drop to the ground

new sand walls grow
shielding the two
the heat
grow out of the mother’s
out of the daughter’s

the men are gone
some dead

there is now nowhere
for any of us to go


i can’t do it
i can’t say what i need to say
i over did it
and there’s nothing left.

it’s a new speed bump
a new canyon
a new void in the

i won’t make it past that
and because of that
i can’t tell you the things
that i need to.


in on the wind
grains of thought drift
my ghost town burried
under suffocating
of memory

the older they get
the more they sit rocking
on their favorite chair
by a fireplace
under the hearth

hanging christmas stockings
like it’s always december
rubbing their forehead
like they’re building
a particle collider

sketching a letter
to a long lost sibling
one who never existed
on this plane

and in another dimension
those grains of thought
are stars
bulleting down towards
our mediocre little


on the playing card
i drew a picture
and if you see it
you’ll understand existence
but i will die

there are 52 of them
deep under lint in my
but only one
has my secret

pull it out
my flesh will melt
i won’t be here
at this desk

no one to take you outside
nobody to give you a ride
you’ll be stuck
knowing the secret
never able to do anything
about it.


my son
slay your brother
he hath betrayed our lineage
and can live no longer

take this blade
shed his blood onto the crops
lay his soul to rest
at the cross roads where
liveth the devil

under the tree
whence your mother gave birth
to you both

at the corner
of happy
and healthy

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