July 2009
In the pizzeria He flips open his cell phone To show me the first girl to ever know How heavy his heart was She is posing for him She is engaged to someone else. He says every woman Is a whore. I am a woman My mother too His daughter Who is the right to vote And a pipe bomb in a planned parent hood Away from being born Will be no exception. We are all whores. I do not argue because I cannot make a...
“i am a slave ship in the middle of the Sistine Chapel.”
– ainsley burrows.
where to find me.
a microphone on 236 east third street, between avenues b & c.
the tree roots i rode over on my bicycle and fractured my first limb on.
a marble quote in new zealand that reads “i live at the edge of the universe, just like everybody else.”
the blarney stone, which i kissed when i was 12, and receieved ‘the gift of gab.’
a broken lock on the gate which sets...
only in new paltz.
for adir, geoff, and bloom.
a band is playing. they must have a deal with the bartenders. if the music is bad enough people will want to drink more. it works.
your musician friends tap their knuckles on the bar and think of percussions. they skid their fingers across the fronts of their shirts like fretboards. he sings a little when he speaks to you over the noise.
you spin around on your bar...
“I stood
In the scorpion of her
deep in the wet of her soft, moving
flesh...”
– -ainsley burrows.
damn.
SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING
waterwrittenasrain:
Come tomorrow. The tank theater. 354 W. 45th. Omni. Fritz. Edy. Eden. Caroline. Adam Falkner. Sneak Preview. Poetry. Poetry by Bamboo MC $10. Champ Camp. Intangible Collective. Insanity. See you there.
some ridiculous poets from the intangible collective are putting on a play. your tuesday nights are usually boring. change that up & go.
dear followers,
i accidentally deleted the list of people who wanted a copy of my chapbook Cricket Fuel: and Other Poems by Megan Falley from my sticky notes. if you were on that list, please shoot me an e-mail to kneepits@gmail.com & we can arrange something as I am back in the country, broke, and wanting to spread the spoken word.
love,
me.
Watchreason # 4568997 for why you should hang out with poets.
“this song is about my dick.”
– alex zimmerman in response to incessant gangsta rap.
the blessing of abundance terrifies hands so immune to emptiness.
“i am malcom in a starbucks in harlem.”
– -ainsley burrows, poet.
last night ainsley reaffirmed my belief in great poetry. he spoke with no inflection in his tone and with his arms crossed the entire time, yet the crowd was banging their elbows on the tables in disbelief. he is the kind of poet who makes you not want to clap because you...
for the poet who awoke in a trainyard for the two girls who needed hitchhiking to believe in saints. for anyone whose ever sang, unabashed in the backseat of a cop car, this is for you. it’s a praise that sings itself for the splatter paint on your permanent record and the tattoos on your bootheels the world is your bouncey ball in the empty grocery of your life laugh like you are mad, mad...
nuyooooooo!
davidherbert:
best fuckin poetry night of my poetry life. got my first ever 30 and won at the Nuyo. actually i co-won with Megan. amazing. incredible. amazing. cloud 9. speachless.
if you told me back in 2007 when me & david first met at the national collegiate poetry slam that in 2+ years that us two slam-newbies would share the winning stage at the nuyorican, i might have looked at...
my doorbell * white stripes.
for omni who thinks...
my mother gets migraines. when i wake up at 10 am to pee, i see her pale feet in the bathtub. they prune and i imagine her as a much older woman. “how long have you been in here?” i whisper. “since seven.” my mother falls asleep in bathtubs. people ask me if i miss new zealand. sometimes, when i pass landfills, i squint my eyes and pretend that they are mountains.
“you can’t talk rationally to an irrational person.”
– albert ellis
for the merenda brothers
pizza guy: would you like something to drink?
me: can i have a blue moon?
pizza guy: can i see some ID?
me: can i have an iced tea?
“You want to be a writer? If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of...”
– Charles Bukowski (via prettysmart)
I have seen your true colors Like a dystopia peacock Long enough to know I’d rather be comatose In some I Love Lucy episode If I never get the chance To hang you out clothesline I’ll split open the rose (She was ugly on the inside)
mom: sean, you didn't come home last night!
sean: yes i did.
mom: oh, right. i didn't come home last night!
