Post Extra

Glassware

drevon03 — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 00:11:38 +0000

Lincoln’s Harmonica Player (Revised)

drevon03 — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 00:35:38 +0000

On the train to work today,
I met President Lincoln’s Harmonica Player.
She was old and dirty with grime covering her face,
And her skills had faded with time,
But she swore she played Amazing Grace at his funeral.

“I’ll never turn down a dollar,
But my account is full,” she said as passengers boarded.
“It was my music that freed the slaves,
And that is a job that pays plenty no matter how many years later.”

She blocked the aisle of the car
With her cart of plastic bags and bottles.
“Don’t scorn me,” she grumbled at the business suits.
“Or I will teach you nothing I know. And I know a lot.”

Some people laughed, others moved away.
I like history lessons, so I took a seat nearby to listen
She looked old but good for someone nearly 200 years old.

She saw her audience and readied her instrument.

Her lips glided on the harmonica for a moment,
“I need a piano. Who here has my piano?”
The other passengers ignored her,
But I oddly wished I could play–
Just to see where it might take her.

She forgot the piano and played ahead.
It didn’t sound like much more than noise,
But when she paused and rasped, “How sweet the sound . . .”
You knew she meant it.

I handed her a dollar at my stop.
She smiled and tucked it down her coat with the harmonica.
I walked the opposite direction, and heard her preach on.

She has a story to tell—-true only to her.
But I am glad I stopped to listen.

Henrietta of Union Station, Washington DC 20002

drevon03 — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 23:09:31 +0000

Henrietta, you caught my eye today.

It’s been awhile but you look good.
I see you got a new shirt to tie your hair back.

I hear there is snow tonight and the wind is rough.
Tear the plastic and put something on.
That coat you have for a pillow looks warm.

*****

Henrietta!

Stop it!

Stop reminding me!

Henrietta.

You are too young for this.

What happened?

Henrietta?

Your eyes are so bright against your frame.

Your body is so young to be so old.

Henrietta,

You’ve burnt my mind.
I dream you loose your breath and it haunts my sleep.

*****

Keep your shoes on.
It’s winter again, Henrietta.
Have a good night.
Great to see you.

I am

drevon03 — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 05:01:48 +0000

1(one)

Museum 2

drevon03 — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 23:56:43 +0000

I work in televised mediums-
televised motion–
And I smell of man.

I stand before Presidents–
you keep watching-
As homemade steam moves your feet.

Museum 1

drevon03 — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 23:55:26 +0000

Before me triplet ladies of color-
All our colors-
Dripping distilled chaos.

Blurred to make their meaning clear.

They watch back with painted mouths,
To painted rhythm, brushed rhyme.
And the middle is almost gone.

I want to smudge them and give them my meaning.

AND I CAN

In My Back Alley

drevon03 — Fri, 12 Sep 2008 05:48:20 +0000

In the back room of the Shady Way,
We met and shared tinsel under the table.
With it, we found a team of friendly foes,
And all knew the end they wanted.

The path was different because that agreement was beyond us—
But the destination was true enough for common minds.

****

The laughter stopped and I charted my course alone.
The first step needed color.
–Got to have the color–
And those paintings seemed the best option to get things going.

And so we are off to the nap sack luncheon with enough bread for two.
Its use was not clear at the time, but it is always better to be prepared.

There we go.

****

Right turn
Whistle whistle
Right go color blind.
Let it bleed through us dripping.
Swish Swish
Dampness
Wetting.
Drip us forward

Time goes far
And there we are

****

Oh Glinda–
You bitch–

Wipe my nose–

There–
You’re at it–
Okay–
Right now–

Change it for me–

It doesn’t matter–
They are all German smut–
More hardcore than you can find around here–

GlinDA!–

Listen to me–

I’m in the mood for something–
–like we used to
–the old orgy frolic

Amen sir–

****

And let us have pity for the dead,
For they still dance by night.

****

Hey!
I can tell what you mean without your eye movement.
It’s true so watch your looks on books.
They betray you like a stick.

****

How does it turn to those with carrots?
Can’t they share bread too?

“Keep your scraps!”

Cause where does it all go?
And what can we do if our paper is left blind?
Wake-up-Wake-up!
And shake your meat.

****

The colors rise and fall with the water as we find the Earth again.
Dig yourself in before it falls.
Fold yourself and breath it deep while you still have it.

They hum in:

BlueBlueBlueBlueBlueBlueBlueBlueBluuuuu
RedRedRedRedRedRedRedRedReeeee
BlueBlueBlueBlueBlueBlueBlueBlueBluuuuu
RedRedRedRedRedRedRedRedReeeeed

With harmonies of Yellow and a sad deep Violet Bass

And it hovers just below the ear to shine your eyes past full–
And you offer a scream
–Emotion of the soul–
It completes the piece and joins the hearts of men
As we realize that time is time, and we feel it around us rather than in us.

****

And I return on a path with loaves and fish.
The Vendor had some ideas,
But they broke it down,
Analyzed,
Wrote it up,
And made a religion.
What has that bunch done towards world peace?
And where has it got me?

The pills work better.

****

And we found it.
The truth.

I am serious.
It’s right here.

They all know it.

The truth that no truth is here in painted form.

But it works us well
–Don’t it?
And turns me on as I drop it out.

****

And here we are again–
Warm and alone in a crowd.

****

Where in directional winds it falls with panoramic humane suffering,
I’ll be there with a camera or watercolors.

Seems most pleasing to those who run.
On past winds, their lives clearly painted with the rest.
Storms don’t wash but water.

****

Put it in a bag and let’s go.
I need to watch behind my eyelids.
I know it’s there and don’t want to miss it.

OhOH!
There it is.
I knew I’d find my man
Machine
Machine!

****

And up we go past all the dreams.
–Past the feet and up to the tinsel–
Limping deep into our broadest mindsets . . .

****

“Excuse me! Waiter”
“There seems to be a person in my soup.”

No Glue Needed

drevon03 — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 01:38:46 +0000

And there’s the windshield

Clear and Unbroken

With you behind it

Next to me

Please stay with me

Please stay up with me

Please stay with me

Please stay up with me

Sarah Palin Tall

drevon03 — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 22:49:13 +0000

Premiering at #1 on the NYTimes best sellers list, the greatly anticipated biography of Republican VP hopeful, Sarah Palin.

A Post-Extra to an Opening Night.

drevon03 — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 04:18:35 +0000

So I look into my reflection,
A violet circle in my glass of boxed wine.
And like prophets before, I scare the shit out of myself.

The back of my brain itches,
And all in all it makes me useful.

A few months ago that seemed enough.

But now at it again,
Nothing is as clear as it used to be.

Without witness to my deeds,
Months of work feels as useless as paint.
Where were we last time?

I lost it with cliché.
Cloudy in disposition.
Bargain-rack find!

Downloaded memory is the best I can find without detector.
switch-it
switch-it
Downloaded memory is sadly more accurate than even I know.

So it’s a race now for our stored thoughts.
It’s a race to see what storage system works best.
And thus we twitter away.

I can fan myself,
And you can feed me my reliance and our Hope.
It’s a sticker for our bumper$.

Chug-a-chug it.
Paper bag it.
Corn oil and liberal paste it.
We’re going greener than paper crayons.

And it ends us all in a better sense of insecurity.
A leader by different title and mode,
But years to prove a lady and a killer couldn’t top it off with limpness.

I need more than 4 year.

Give me my pill
For god-fucking-sake,
And take me to my nimble home.

An image in liquid is a questionable ripple.
Taste it.
The alcohol might be worth more than the vision.