papers/lighter/text

crumbled and rolled

emergency action: panic attack procedure (11/8/16 edition) 11/29/2016

Filed under: free verse,poetry,the trumpocalypse,Uncategorized — paperslightertext @ 3:16 am
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a dense fog, a coming frost. cracked continents crumbling
like crushed ice in a cheap fountain drink.
hopes and dreams hollowed out into eerie jack-o-lanterns.
a bitter, expensive pill to swallow.
five things I can see.

convulsions. a heartbeat, your arms:
four things I can feel.

freeway noise, tears and static.
three things I can hear.

tangerine peels and cool night air.
two things I can smell.

one thing I can taste.
ashes.

a calm, but how long?
but a few restless hours
til the inevitable cruel dawn.

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the future’s so wet, I gotta wear scuba gear

Filed under: free verse,poetry,the trumpocalypse — paperslightertext @ 12:37 am
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Hope you enjoyed New York while it was dry.
Sandy was only a preview of coming attractions.
The feature presentation’s the dramatic rift,
Continental shift as Antartica crumbles,
America stumbles and Trump bumbles
An amphibian blowing bilious bubbles
Of hot noxious air,
A methane surprise.
Ten feet of sea rise
and a black snake slick with death:
Impending threats.
None were mentioned in the thinkpiece
titled “What will we do next.”

 

in the sincerest way: thanks, Obama 11/16/2016

Filed under: Uncategorized — paperslightertext @ 10:24 pm

to look back over my old poems now takes on a new sense of sadness and longing. it’s a reminder of the relative peace and stability I’ve enjoyed over the past eight years. things weren’t perfect, but as I contemplate the future, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by dread.

I want to revisit a poem I wrote in January 2009, shortly after Obama was inaugurated. it’s been on my mind lately, as the entirety of my adult life has taken on a whole new meaning in the cold, harsh light of the 2016 election results.

ECONOMIC STIMULUS PACKAGE

bugler stimulus package, drum rolled
spliff smoked, roach, black clove in the ash-pot,
inaugural hit off a resin ball the size of a shopping mall,

this is how these things progress.

moss on the canyon of enamel
choking out the wisps
in perfect noose smoke o’s
between phillies

ask me about
my economic recovery plan:

to buy a bag of now and laters every time i get paid
a box of condoms though i never get laid
and dream of the bonny day, the American dream,
when the burning ball
is rehashed

or at least the seven fingered stash
emancipated.

 

 

fragment/WIP 11/12/2016

Filed under: Uncategorized — paperslightertext @ 2:52 am

a nightmare from a waking dream:
a rotten tangerine regime
a bad toupee resembling hay
a right-hand man who’d criminalize gay