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tiko lewis: something other than a buddhist upbringing
Part of the PoetryCircle Showcase series.
  • something other than a buddhist upbringing

    ain't_no_sunshine radio
    i heard a story
    of a guy in a sombrero
    with one boxing glove
    jumping up and down on a police car
    and thought
    i'm wasting my life

    i'm being duped
    with everyone else

    i mean
    who needs cereal made into a bar
    or tofu of any kind

    who needs an infinity pool

    i'm 41 —
             half dead

    i learned the hard way
    is a blond
    with fake tits
    and ass injections

    she'll do anyone
    if the reason is right

    * * * *

    someone should warn the little girls
    a cunt kick is just the beginning
    life gets worse

    the boys will learn
    that just because you're hairy
    doesn't mean you're Greek

    or from Jersey

    p.s. everything that grows
                            is organic



    it's come apart
    there's shock releasing the tourniquet
    fragments on the ground that can't be re-attached

    partway through dying
    air moves fast over the eyes
    under the tongue becomes dry
    you begin to wish you made copies
    little dittos that sit inside the cheek
    large enough to cherish
    small enough to distribute

    then you feel it

    the swarm on your face

    the chest full of birds


    why weathermen smile at the news of rain

    i tried cheap wine
    i plugged into the mountain
    took all i could
    all the chalk
    all the tar
    all the dyed hair
    and broken teeth
    and aftershocks
    and rotted tires
    and dead horses the indians used to ride

    the stars burned like paper
    and all the girls i've tried to bed
    sat next to me like dried flowers
    all the faces taped together
    no sound
    no blood
    still no sex

    i tried cheap wine
    i plugged into the mountain


    how to swallow a sword

    ....and speaking of light
    at the end of the tunnel

    i know the feeling
    being first in line at the guillotine
    and i told them
    i can perform without an audience
    but fear is the best instinct
    with its live-longer vibe
    —the tricky part is knowing when to jump—

    poets are testimony
    to the many practical uses of caffeine with ritalin
    too often we write with the care required
    to harvest mosquito wings
    but you can't find motive or reason
    from an autopsy
    face it
    we are bean-eaters in borrowed dresses
    and soon the public will look to us
    to keep the fire going in summer
    find all the pretty horses
    catch the women
    after they've gone wild

    best i know
    iridescence is a light trick
    a slight of hand
    using screws and jelly jars
    and no one knows the purpose of
    gold leaf
    fruit cake
    or pastries after noon

    i've never been famous
    or able to swallow my own sword
    and the evidence before me
    proves most people are faking
    it must be accidental

    recycled muse

    for my part
    i did not wake
    with the late flowers

    i’d died once before
    and i remember the screech
    of slaughtered goats

    the smell of outdoors and melon

    and later
    drying out

    there was profit in (that) death—

    this time i will steer into the break
    dig into the earth with the step of a bull
    i will not sleep

    —i will not sleep


    we don’t all require gravestones

    decent society
    dance joints
    pretty women
    traffic skin

    old men huddle
    remember baseball
    or that night
    with Jack's wife

    maybe the bastards
    figured it out—
    earning death

    perhaps we
    are cheated
    by security

    seat belts
    and pensions
    warm coats

    we don't all

    every city
    has a field
    old mattresses
    and dead dogs
    are dumped


    i am

    black as the bellies of crows
    full and stretched and without

    black as Orion's shadow
    crouched under the moon
    where purple flowers

    black as tire marks
    on freeway walls

    black as the smell
    of coffee

    black as life
    when death is not available



    i grind corn, and someone else profits

    i love a woman who loves me more

    i don't read enough to be a good writer

    i'd rather be a good fuck than successful

    God is real; preachers are false

    i can't wait to die, but i'm scared to death
  1. tiko lewis
    thanks, everyone.  
    glad this little ditty was so
    well received.

  2. Nebojsa Manojlovic
    Wow, I wish I could say something insightful and clever now. These poems are just great.
    tiko lewis likes this.
  3. TrishSaunders
    I am practically wordless with admiration.
    Julia Schott and tiko lewis like this.
  4. Lavonne Westbrooks
    Bravo, bravo, bravo!
    tiko lewis likes this.
  5. Julia Schott
    I love these, especially the weatherman poem
    tiko lewis likes this.
  6. Jay Dougherty
    Have a feeling you would have been right at home in the IBM Selectric days. I personally enjoy reading just about anything in that old monospaced typewriter font style, and this, too.

    That "self portrait" text rings true. Nice stuff.
    tiko lewis likes this.
  7. Michael Ashley
    Beeeeeautiful! X
    tiko lewis and Jay Dougherty like this.