tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22738963989500946142024-03-18T21:39:33.589-07:00theClosureSessionsOrion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-80877686361048117132023-06-12T10:35:00.003-07:002023-06-12T11:45:52.325-07:00Monday<p>Cold sores, cold wars</p><p>So old it is being told</p><p>“You’re not the one”</p><p><br /></p><p>But I keep it to myself</p><p>The doubts I hide like a pimple</p><p>Red and irritated, ready to pop</p><p><br /></p><p>Now wipe away the pus</p><p>Let the blood coagulate </p><p>Let it stain like spaghetti sauce on a stovetop </p><p><br /></p><p>I’m covered in cat hair</p><p>I’m soaked in lite beer and spit</p><p>I’m in an argument with the television </p><p><br /></p><p>And she’s not listening to a word I say</p><p>The virtual lover, the guilt-free neglect</p><p>The shades are drawn, my pen is broken </p>Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-38440004061619777082022-01-02T18:57:00.001-08:002022-01-02T18:57:26.253-08:0032 Below<p>Oh, let me brace myself </p><p>for the cold kiss of winter.</p><p> </p><p>A heart like a hearth,</p><p>the crackling of wood fire</p><p>conjures memories of a home<br /></p><p>since caved in from a heavy snow.</p><p> </p><p>A still portrait of a family,<br /></p><p>bodies blanketed by snowfall<br /></p><p>exchange chilly glances<br /></p><p>intercepted by the gusts</p><p>of the harsh wintry air.</p><p> </p>A snowy owl perches on the debris<p>For a moment I ponder what it means,</p><p>before wringing the moisture from my tongue</p><p>to save my truths for a warmer day.<br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-31077218979591628232021-12-06T15:47:00.000-08:002021-12-06T15:47:13.912-08:00The Rain Dance<p>Great flood, mudslide</p><p>Love like a natural disaster</p><p> </p><p>Great trees uprooted,</p><p>the violence of separation <br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I was found upstream, tongue severed </p><p>bitter food for the fishes </p><p><br /></p><p>I feel a nibbling at my fingertips</p><p>as I sink with my thoughts of you <br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Your face like sunshine cutting through storm clouds</p><p>I miss the warmth that it brings</p><p> </p><p>So, if you find yourself taking on water</p><p>If the lightning cracks thrice</p><p><br /></p><p>Send our mementos up the river</p><p>and I'll be at the bend to collect <br /></p><p><br /></p>Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-91400618835170362952021-04-28T05:38:00.001-07:002021-04-28T05:38:26.675-07:00Yo Adrian, I did it! <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeRh5pa7mElaKUHRl2k3La-N-MFVomNnF6syFE-JIDKzLp5o47zQKt6TfXjbCPz8KhyphenhyphenFIdk3fKCeL_S_4h3mRYdBTHboyBmr-m2vMP1mcZdhS_H3EbnY4sU8E2hZPHZG6OWlPrHlYKOFiC/s2048/57616433-8315-4A22-8D5D-D06D2B644B3F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeRh5pa7mElaKUHRl2k3La-N-MFVomNnF6syFE-JIDKzLp5o47zQKt6TfXjbCPz8KhyphenhyphenFIdk3fKCeL_S_4h3mRYdBTHboyBmr-m2vMP1mcZdhS_H3EbnY4sU8E2hZPHZG6OWlPrHlYKOFiC/s320/57616433-8315-4A22-8D5D-D06D2B644B3F.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinMDfAW_KXSTIm7A5Fg4vQB4vty0ZAT1zZ7B_SIMwQMPmgOu1hv9ERZVvkvi8XSB8bwi7qcHveWA8M2RUBLI2Oyscaoe-nkEq7OTnLQ9D8Yi0YrP1Jg6DTYpwlqYZqFBPoUCHsvgdy5oBW/s2048/E6F2C914-3C19-4C31-B7DA-244A5F023057.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinMDfAW_KXSTIm7A5Fg4vQB4vty0ZAT1zZ7B_SIMwQMPmgOu1hv9ERZVvkvi8XSB8bwi7qcHveWA8M2RUBLI2Oyscaoe-nkEq7OTnLQ9D8Yi0YrP1Jg6DTYpwlqYZqFBPoUCHsvgdy5oBW/s320/E6F2C914-3C19-4C31-B7DA-244A5F023057.jpeg" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-11441494802979612792021-02-09T08:05:00.003-08:002021-02-09T08:07:40.250-08:00Orion Lives!<p> Hello everyone. This is your poet speaking. You may have noticed I haven't uploaded in awhile and frankly that's because I haven't been writing regularly. You see, COVID and the ensuing lockdowns have completely disrupted my routines and rhythm. As many of my fellow poets know this can be debilitating to the writing process. I'm also currently enrolled in school and working full-time. Turns out that eats up a lot of my time.</p><p>To my readers, thank you. I don't know who's still reading but thank you. To everyone that's seen me perform this drivel at Poetry Room, Artist's Umbrella, and various coffee shops around the mid-Michigan area, thank you. I'm always thinking of you even though I've entirely disappeared off the face of social media and the general scene. It unfortunately coincides with everything being shut down and my heart does break for all of you. I know how hard it's been on my mental state and feelings about writing, I can't imagine for those of you who organize events and live for sharing your poems. I love you all. I hope to someday see many of you again, be it on stage sharing with you or being amazed by your talent.</p><p>To poetry, I'm thinking of you. Always. You've been there for me for so long now. You've given me so much, it's time that I gave back to you.</p>Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-77346128902617004272020-07-28T10:33:00.000-07:002020-07-28T10:33:24.044-07:00Juvenile PoemHyperbole: I'm dying. Untouched,<br />
stubborn to the dullness<br />
that is waking up<br />
to only regrets at my side,<br />
now familiar bedfellows<br />
<br />
Masturbation without imagination<br />
A meta-like quality:<br />
The star of a NatGeo special<br />
A wild beast pleasures itself<br />
for want of feeling<br />
<br />
and I'm unconscious<br />
my brain swelling with nameless want<br />
Bloody Suburbia<br />
A stalker's corpse in the bushes<br />
bored to death<br />
<br />
But we are not entertained<br />
Assuming the missionary position<br />
(is the poet not crass by nature?)<br />
for much of our lives<br />
on our backs<br />
waiting for life to take us thereOrion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-44119193358205918552020-07-28T10:29:00.000-07:002020-07-28T10:29:08.855-07:00An Open Letter To YouThe bereaved Gardener<br />
Etching names into stone<br />
Your face like clay, brown and firm<br />
<br />
Two 0 One 9<br />
It's so hard to fall upward<br />
Failing to find myself in the storm<br />
<br />
and I think it so cruel<br />
dipping the doll's head in wax<br />
a chipped tooth, a weepy eye<br />
<br />
A boring into the earth<br />
the carcass of an oak<br />
limbs strewn about a sea of grass<br />
<br />
I've been silent about my intentions<br />
Seeding the soil with lies,<br />
lies, lies, lies, lies, lies...<br />
<br />
But worry not-<br />
The sunflowers sprouting from<br />
my chest will still turn in open conversation<br />
<br />
The headstone dressed in moss will<br />
speak my name in silent tongues<br />
and I'll watch over you<br />
<br />
a promise, this time<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-60370259910735331032020-02-26T10:13:00.001-08:002020-02-26T10:13:22.237-08:00Vacation Don’t.<br />
Embrace the space between us<br />
Familiarize yourself with vacancy<br />
because I’ve checked out.<br />
It wasn’t the bed bugs<br />
moth chewed cream curtains<br />
semen stains on a carpet<br />
the same shade as oatmeal-<br />
It was you.<br />
So,<br />
Just. Don’t.Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-22107207347167228102020-02-20T17:48:00.001-08:002020-02-20T17:54:50.901-08:00Family Baby brother<br />
with hair like wildfire<br />
eyes of deepest blue<br />
glistening like the surface<br />
of Lake Michigan in Indian summer-<br />
A smile of hidden treasures<br />
buried deep like our mother before us<br />
<br />
You learned this early on-<br />
not all that is found yields reward<br />
But count those calluses<br />
the sting of sweat<br />
watch the blood trickle into<br />
the wound slashed into the earth<br />
<br />
Baby brother<br />
you remember it well-<br />
a broken chair the kindling to<br />
an arson whose hearth still glows<br />
beneath the charred remains<br />
of a broken home<br />
<br />
Baby brother<br />
show me the blisters-<br />
Continue to stand too close<br />
to the fire and you will get burned<br />
But learn to walk away<br />
and only then, will you learn to heal<br />
<br />
<br />Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-24937740120553372912020-02-05T16:37:00.001-08:002020-02-05T16:37:06.254-08:00Definition, What a DecisionListen close, loose change<br />
Hear its tune in your<br />
faded denim pocket<br />
<br />
Sag,<br />
a smiling waistband<br />
hugs your hips<br />
<br />
The tone of your skin<br />
cream of mushroom<br />
<br />
Your ugly,<br />
all to my appetiteOrion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-65061523203895123902020-02-05T16:34:00.001-08:002020-02-05T16:34:10.573-08:00Hackneyed A view of mercy-<br />
admiring her,<br />
now from a distance<br />
<br />
I catch a glimpse-<br />
a fleeting future<br />
flashing before my<br />
welling, weary eyes<br />
<br />
She has saturated<br />
my senses, she has<br />
my attention wrapped<br />
tight around her limp finger<br />
<br />
At her mercy now,<br />
though I fear she has forgotten.<br />
Will my words echo?<br />
<br />
Will we love again?<br />
<br />
I have began to dig deep into<br />
my patience reserve, so you<br />
don't have to bankrupt your emotions.Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-79019303760138205002019-09-17T18:16:00.000-07:002019-09-17T18:16:05.013-07:00Clementine i held you like<div>
the world was ending</div>
<div>
but that couldn’t stop you</div>
<div>
from slipping through my fingers </div>
<div>
like sand </div>
<div>
i wish i could bottle </div>
<div>
but you are meant for beaches</div>
<div>
sunsets with the waves </div>
<div>
crashing over you </div>
<div>
if I bottled you</div>
<div>
the world would never forgive me </div>
Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-13719915712083558052019-09-05T10:57:00.002-07:002019-09-05T10:57:51.447-07:00Mugshots, Obituaries, Major AwardsI remember when <div>
we were all bright</div>
<div>
and smiles extended</div>
<div>
past endless summer sky</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I remember aspirations </div>
<div>
long since forgotten</div>
<div>
a look in our eyes </div>
<div>
now unrecognizable </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We’ll always cling to </div>
<div>
these memories </div>
<div>
sweetened by time or </div>
<div>
made bitter in hindsight</div>
<div>
for nothing is as good or true</div>
<div>
as you remember it- </div>
<div>
but it’s how <i>you</i> remember it</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If I could go back</div>
<div>
I wouldn’t -</div>
<div>
for what I’ve endured</div>
<div>
I don’t wish to again</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-25313079242542870612019-02-28T11:24:00.001-08:002019-02-28T11:26:33.915-08:00Somewhere Between 007 and My Desperate Search of Verse<p dir="ltr">In the interest <br>
of mending broken hearts<br>
I bring you superglue and silly putty</p>
<p dir="ltr">For the one I've never minded to <u>mend</u><br>
I turn my heart to the east <br>
but my fears lie to the west </p>
<p dir="ltr">Love is the death of duty<br>
due diligence be damned <br>
ripples from rocks skipped across seas</p>
<p dir="ltr">Nevermind never mine<br>
Never you mind damn you<br>
Lest the words explode </p>
<p dir="ltr">Like shrapnel from your chest <br>
I will not hear a word of it<br>
Yet even whispers cut all the same </p>
<p dir="ltr">Kiss me you fool<br>
Celluloids illuminate the night sky<br>
Black and white so unlike life </p>
<p dir="ltr">To live I'm sure <br>
Death is<br>
Whatever this is</p>
<p dir="ltr">Montauk, Bangkok<br>
Little Italian villages <br>
Owosso nestled between darkness </p>
<p dir="ltr">I'm uniquely qualified <br>
To find myself hated <br>
In every corner of the world </p>
<p dir="ltr">Yet wherever I have loved<br>
Love <br>
Has been sure to follow </p>
Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-48723343026270658132019-01-09T08:40:00.003-08:002019-01-09T08:40:34.310-08:00Persona Non GrataStep out from the shadows<br />
and let me get a look at you, little man.<br />
<br />
So loud, so loud, yet<br />
trouble growing into your pants.<br />
<br />
You say you lost a lover along the way,<br />
a friend makes two.<br />
<br />
Your problems are their problems,<br />
right, little man?<br />
<br />
<i>If </i>you love me...<br />
<i>Do </i>you love me...?<br />
Oh, so you <i>don't </i>love me.<br />
<br />
I've heard it all before,<br />
taking what doesn't belong to you.<br />
<br />
Little man,<br />
do you think you are a man?<br />
<br />
If you say so,<br />
shifting uncomfortably in your skin.<br />
<br />
Little man, how will you shrink<br />
when the world is watching you,<br />
<br />
Taunting you<br />
with what you're so rightfully owed?<br />
<br />
Put yourself together,<br />
little man.<br />
<br />
Fading into the ether,<br />
all these years and a<br />
pile of clay to make of it.<br />
<br />
Materialize elsewhere,<br />
little man.<br />
<br />
Wade until you're saved,<br />
sputter about how you nearly drowned<br />
yet your feet always touching the floor.<br />
<br />
But knowledge is violence<br />
right, little man?<br />
<br />
Abuse the privilege<br />
until the privilege hits back.<br />
<br />
Watch the little man cry about bruises<br />
when he's left scars.<br />
<br />
Little man,<br />
do you think you are a man?<br />
<br />
Little man,<br />
I know who you are.<br />
<br />
Little man,<br />
I know what you are.<br />
<br />
Crawl back into the shadows<br />
or squirm in the light,<br />
<br />
I don't care,<br />
little man<br />
<br />
No more,<br />
no more.<br />
<br />Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-83089333866106160222018-11-01T10:43:00.001-07:002018-11-01T10:43:27.784-07:00AbuseI've become afraid<br />
of the monster hiding behind closed doors.<br />
<br />
Eyes like a void,<br />
blank like death.<br />
<br />
It doesn't know better,<br />
hands where they don't belong<br />
<br />
bruised lip quivers for forgiveness,<br />
curling into a slick smile<br />
<br />
rows of jagged teeth<br />
the thrill of the hunt<br />
<br />
The wolf and the sheep,<br />
predator and prey, design-<br />
<br />
playing the roles assigned.<br />
Entitled monsters,<br />
<br />
no means<i> you know you want it</i><br />
no isn't enough<br />
<br />
not for the monster hiding<br />
behind closed doors.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-91779708041003779642018-10-10T12:02:00.003-07:002018-10-10T12:02:30.683-07:00Anesthetic/AestheticIf I could be so eloquent,<br />
to alleviate the swelling of words<br />
festering like bacteria in my throat.<br />
Like a rabid animal<br />
foaming at the mouth<br />
Jaws snapping, teeth gnashing.<br />
<br />
Fever dreams,<br />
I'm in the Garden of Eden<br />
Slapping the apple from Eve's hand,<br />
Rotten milk drips from her bosom<br />
Adam clutches his side,<br />
the serpent swallows its tail.<br />
<br />
You say I'm beautiful the way<br />
a tattoo is ugly as it heals.<br />
Scabs obscuring some great art.<br />
Scar tissue, fleshy and pink.<br />
Dead skin falling<br />
like snowflakes -<br />
or ash,<br />
depending on which<br />
disaster you bring about.<br />
<br />
Ointments and antibiotics do not do.<br />
I'm prescribed free literature<br />
sweaty pats on the back<br />
the comfort of strangers.<br />
Self-medicating, self-care malpractice.<br />
Glossy brochures,<br />
the bulge of pill bottles in my pockets.<br />
<br />
Patchwork therapy keeps me together<br />
with band-aids, duct tape,<br />
bits of string collected through the years.<br />
Help me by telling me everything<br />
I want to hear.<br />
Gold stars on my calendar for every<br />
day I don't think of you.<br />
<br />
If I could be so eloquent,<br />
to alleviate the dumb thoughts<br />
spreading like a rash over my brain.<br />
The blisters so itchy and unsightly.<br />
To say,<br />
Doc, you gotta help me, Doc.<br />
Find me a cure for this love,<br />
whatever it was-<br />
an infection.Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-43806308983668772902018-09-20T15:11:00.001-07:002018-09-20T15:11:40.662-07:00Owosso Poem/The Jordan Sovis Fanclub <i>"It's like what Kurt Cobain said, man, </i><br />
<i>'Weather changes moods.'" - Remy </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Those who romanticize small towns<br />
never had their heartbroken by one.<br />
<br />
Places where the brightest minds<br />
all fall to darkness.<br />
<br />
Where the flames of passions are<br />
extinguished by the icy chill of indifference.<br />
<br />
Where light isn't a strong enough disinfectant<br />
to cleanse the legacy of bigotry-<br />
from Confederate flags to the KKK.<br />
<br />
I was born of this dysfunction.<br />
The cracked streets and impoverished<br />
blocks whose sidewalks I had traced<br />
with my feet for years, as if trying to<br />
etch my name into the city,<br />
anything to leave my mark.<br />
<br />
Naivete gave way to residual angst,<br />
contempt that familiarity breeds.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's the memories I hate,<br />
making times past still feel so raw.<br />
Maybe it's bitterness.<br />
Maybe it's the dead friends.<br />
the dying friends,<br />
those rotting away because of a system<br />
that has fucking failed them-<br />
and a community that refuses to support them.<br />
<br />
This isn't a rant,<br />
this is a warning.<br />
<br />
A love letter<br />
Dear Owosso,<br />
<br />
Your quiet intolerance<br />
Your White Trash malevolence,<br />
a toxicity that's hereditary<br />
passing down an ignorance<br />
that's resistant to medicine.<br />
<br />
Where the artist will die,<br />
malnourished unless they<br />
find fertile soil. <br />
<br />
Where the art scene is more<br />
of a cult than community.<br />
<br />
Where the only poetry is found<br />
in a pastor's sermon.<br />
<br />
Owosso, you made me out<br />
of what you couldn't provide.<br />
<br />
Where boredom equals death.<br />
<br />
Where I learned<br />
to never look back.<br />
<br />
<br />Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-45737830419504432172018-08-01T17:32:00.001-07:002018-08-01T17:37:38.255-07:00Bending the Curved EdgeIntoxicated, again.<br />
I like the way it makes me feel-<br />
<br />
until it doesn't.<br />
<br />
Another round, slurring the<br />
curses of exes in the moist air,<br />
dampening the mood, among friends<br />
whose sobriety I find unsettling.<br />
<br />
You understand,<br />
until you don't.<br />
<br />
Who I want to be is drowned<br />
for glassy eyes, blurred lines,<br />
and repressed cries that take<br />
me on a treacherous drive.<br />
<br />
I'd be sorry if I could<br />
recount what was said.<br />
<br />
I'd be sorry until I'm not.<br />
<br />
I'd be sorry for poisoning<br />
myself if I didn't like the<br />
sound of empty bottles<br />
and cans rolling off the table,<br />
a graveyard for my composure<br />
which I'll mourn until the next round-<br />
<br />
always on me.Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-67698676299632483112018-07-18T13:35:00.001-07:002018-07-18T13:35:11.387-07:00Questions For a Bootlicker<p dir="ltr">Will you sympathize with the fascists <br>
when the boot is on your neck?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Will you lick the leather?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Will you cry out for your child<br>
when its ripped from your arms?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Will you realize that labeling a human<br>
illegal is the language of enabling fascism? </p>
<p dir="ltr">Will you hear the cries of<br>
traumatized children in cages?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Will you lose the same sleep<br>
as their mothers?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Will your blood boil as politicians <br>
flash plastic smiles, passing laws <br>
to drop bombs because death<br>
is far more profitable than prosperity?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Will you be able to identify the enemy <br>
when he appears on your T.V. screen?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Will you embrace your neighbor regardless of gender, color, or creed <br>
when the blood reaches your streets?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Will you get up, stand up?<br>
Can you be counted to join the fight?<br>
Will you do what's right?</p>
Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-35208281933664067792018-06-28T18:50:00.000-07:002018-06-28T18:50:30.236-07:00Simple ArithmeticI think in fractions<br />
with my half mind.<br />
<br />
Though this math<br />
tells me I will<br />
never measure up<br />
to the man you think<br />
I am,<br />
divide me neatly<br />
so you can see<br />
these jagged pieces<br />
add up to someone<br />
who will give you so<br />
much more than the<br />
sum of his parts.<br />
<br />
love as sure as i + u = 2Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-30426896780447645612018-06-20T10:51:00.001-07:002018-06-20T10:51:33.134-07:00Live From Detroit II<i>1969, The MC5 take arms and demand,</i><br />
<i>kick out the jams, motherfuckers!</i><br />
<br />
Punk rock, the boot to the neck<br />
of flower power's soul trippin hedonism.<br />
Born in the wake of a culture<br />
Manson brought to its knees.<br />
Enter the Blank Generation.<br />
Noisy dickhead, art trash.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Iggy Pop rolls in broken glass</i><br />
<i>slurring the chorus to I Wanna Be Your Dog</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Primal nihilism,<br />
never meant to mean anthing<br />
so says the prophetic junkie.<br />
I spent a season in hell<br />
to offer Rimbaud a blowjob.<br />
Poetry in the modern,<br />
fleshy and raw. mumbled<br />
over the hum of blown-tube<br />
amplifiers and static blast<br />
of cheap out of tune guitars.<br />
<br />
<i>Venus in Furs drones hypnotically</i><br />
<i>through Warhol's Factory.</i><br />
<i>Lou Reed scowls. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Civil society left you<br />
blue in the face<br />
red on the wrist, fingerprints<br />
where convention held tight.<br />
You've met your heroes<br />
gracefully slumped over a toilet<br />
or the back booth of a nightclub.<br />
Effigies of excess, strung up,<br />
strung out, planted in the ground.<br />
Little flowers sprouting from their arms.<br />
<br />
<i>From her pulpit, Patti Smith spits her sermon, </i><br />
<i>Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
All the dysfunctional children,<br />
filthy and unclean, tracing<br />
the grooves of old records<br />
with calloused fingertips.<br />
Aspiring to achieve expression<br />
in its purest form.<br />
Art and anger,<br />
an alchemy divine,<br />
rawness, what it means to be alive.<br />
<br />
<i>Black Xs, a badge of honor.</i><br />
<i>An American hardcore is born. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
It's funny how<br />
everything works out.<br />
You can break all the rules<br />
while seeing the world in red<br />
but get played all the same when<br />
all they see is gray and green.<br />
<br />
<i>Even the most dangerous minds</i><br />
<i>wind up on T-shirts sometimes.</i><br />
<br />
Cobain said,<br />
Punk rock should mean freedom.<br />
Freedom from co-opting movements,<br />
perverting bands into brands,<br />
statements into slogans,<br />
riot girl to please sit down, girl.<br />
Images sterilized,<br />
flaw and fury wiped clean<br />
placed neatly in a vacuum,<br />
sacrificing potency for profits.<br />
<br />
Cobain said,<br />
Punk rock should mean freedom,<br />
the freedom to say,<br />
Fuck You.Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-27356317775430361552018-06-20T10:34:00.002-07:002018-06-20T10:34:54.467-07:00Father's DayLike any other day,<br />
it's Father's Day,<br />
like any other day.<br />
Like a Monday,<br />
a Tuesday,<br />
Wedding bells<br />
on a Thursday.<br />
Fireflies in mason jars,<br />
Saturday's weight<br />
measured in moments<br />
waiting for the sun,<br />
like any other day.Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-53309109962346293272018-06-07T13:03:00.001-07:002018-06-07T13:03:14.948-07:00Limpdick Lampshade Proposal I have one fear in life:<br />
Inevitably writing the same poem<br />
over and over and over and over<br />
with each piece reaching<br />
the same. fucking. conclusion.<br />
<br />
however<br />
the feeling remains the same<br />
expectations are raised<br />
the crowd is now restless<br />
they want something<br />
something I can't provide<br />
the show the intimacy the wow<br />
for christ sake<br />
let me have this<br />
the infatuation with tragedy<br />
condemnation of all those<br />
just like me<br />
but isn't it great<br />
no one can invade my conscience<br />
to me you're what and who<br />
i want you to be<br />the saint the savior<br />
the martyr the victim<br />
<br />
I have one fear in life:<br />
Inevitably writing the same poem<br />
over and over and over and over<br />
with each piece reaching<br />
the same. fucking. conclusion.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2273896398950094614.post-2312197467516161362018-06-07T12:55:00.003-07:002018-06-07T12:55:39.236-07:00Black SheepWho are you now?<br />
I can't tell, it must be the change of face.<br />
But how I remember this place,<br />
when I felt free,<br />
you were so radiant.<br />
<br />
We laughed and drank in moonlight,<br />
I held you by the pond.<br />
At daybreak you broke away and smiled,<br />
"Thanks, for nothing."<br />
<br />
I smiled back and went on my way.<br />
<br />Orion Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16633858626739600545noreply@blogger.com0