poet Archives - Regular Movement

ungry

suck down food you starving fuck dog outside, hit by truck fortune cookie asexual bookie says, just your luck there are no ladies left under

the things that make me unhappy are not the day by day things the trappings of routine they are usually the small unkindnesses thoughtless actions

am i a glass pouring nothing? am i water waiting for a glass to contain me? or does it all happen when i am drunk?

there are records i listen to books i read but there are no politicians i feed like an infestation of fleas they should be picked

you are making food i’m making poetry small sandwiches that people won’t have to choke down dreams condensed into language and given wings in the

setting fires in the hearts of liars who wish to hear echoes of themselves they put their morals on shelves and cover their mirrors and

the poets that we think we are are drinking at some legendary bar putting some whiskey-sponsored curse into a form of doggerel verse later on

i am not in denial of cancer movies if they are dressed in comedy even in drama but they are not easy to watch because

you hit some kind of impasse and there’s temptation to be crass instead get off your ass and recognise the glass as neither half empty

i slip my tongue into your mouth to taste your words a language that is needed to lift your heart and the music carries all