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Cafe Bohemia

Posted by mr. green the unanswered poet on January 8, 2010 at 9:10 AM Comments comments (2)

Flash! 


A grenade goes off in my face, and we're on the way....


You and I Nightrider, 

We move along U.S. 19, unabridged...two night voices, two night eyes..

and there is the combining impetuous state of things..

That each and every moment can be pure and abstract...

Like were walking around in this Graffiti Mural on the patio...

A solidified ...

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Nietsczhe Had A motorcycle, and Rode...

Posted by mr. green the unanswered poet on January 6, 2010 at 2:24 AM Comments comments (2)

it was about here that I was in the midst of this long black fog, where the nightmares almost become little toys…small motorcycles with the lights low, and aiming straight for the chest,,,that these rebel greased Chevrolet pool sharks would come through the cavity, bearing their cues and nods from the fog, and it had malicious intentions…


The scalawags, the leather jackets..the whores and their hugging jeans, their hugging nature holding the back of the leather, ...

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William Tell Series Finale (Execution and Sentencing)

Posted by mr. green the unanswered poet on October 6, 2009 at 6:38 PM Comments comments (2)

William, this is it. The 25th hour. More Twilight. More sweat. I hope you've enjoyed your visit here with us...There will be a large article about you in the local paper to morrow...People will cheer.

..and I want the lights off. Don't you touch that switch...

I walk too much in the light. The days are always, personality. Embodied in the paper clips and Red Patent Ink. PAID.. It's right...

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William Tell Series Pt. 4 (Resolution and Verdict)

Posted by mr. green the unanswered poet on October 5, 2009 at 11:05 PM Comments comments (2)

William. The trial is over. You've made it this far, but honestly. It's time to give up the ghost; to offer up what's left of your morale as a sacrifice. Everything you stand for, was left on rim of that toilet seat. Night terrors, for all the days to come.

 

Track nine plays, and she sits there. Alone in a room for two. He's a phantom, a shadow of the symphonic silence, while the stereo plays that first song...

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William Tell Series Pt. 2 (Stifle)

Posted by mr. green the unanswered poet on September 30, 2009 at 1:15 AM Comments comments (1)

William. Hold Back the sweat. You've been through a lot. This is true. But the aching has just begun. Your heart will pound, your arm is numb. But the attack, is yet to come...

 

He was a man of smaller stature. Rooting around the den for more than just an average mag. The collection had gotten low at this point and the sticky tape was all but gone. No more adhesive for the bathroom walls either. No glue. No solid to hold the world to...

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William Tell Series Pt. 1. (Interrogate)

Posted by mr. green the unanswered poet on September 30, 2009 at 12:40 AM Comments comments (1)

William do Tell. Tell of your parishoner sins, and hold the apple steady in place. Let the gaping wound that is your conscience, hold your nerves steadfast..

 

The sun-parched Spectrum. He held a baseball bat. It was tall, sleek and metal. Shine. Two ounces or so of good vibrations. Motor madness, encased in the aluminum coating, and placed quaintly in the trunk beneath some beach towels, a shoe-boxed perspective, carousels, plastic cutout dolls, and that steady hand. It sway...

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Feed them Crossed Fingers...

Posted by mr. green the unanswered poet on September 29, 2009 at 9:41 PM Comments comments (3)

I have invaded. Set upon the Conquistadors of your Spanish town, and brought mounds of the [sic] to your door step. They have malaria, and you shall feed them.

Feed them. Trumpets of Galore that bound with the shaping of your lost noodle. The secret scaffolding you held, swishing about your international Library exchange. The ideals. Feed them the ideals of notorious bandits. The Ali Baba' s and their Forty Knights of thievery. The stolen...

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Untitled Excerpt..

Posted by mr. green the unanswered poet on September 28, 2009 at 7:45 PM Comments comments (2)

Count each nail at the tip, calcium, deposits that form the enamel. I once took a man's fishbone, and read it aloud for some congregation, in the middle of the desert. We spoke of the absolution, breaded and in basket-case formats. We spoke of the dreams of breeders. The imagination that would exist in America, such as the days of Egypt and Rome. How the great civilization, would crumble and make way for the renaissance, fitted from the compass of secondhand smok...

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Saturdays are Hard, Outside a Kangaroo Pouch..

Posted by mr. green the unanswered poet on September 28, 2009 at 5:30 PM Comments comments (1)

Suspension is found in the muck and cesspools of the open streets. Suspension above the restitution of the beggars outside the gas station, waiting in vain, irrefutable animosity, hoping you have a pocket of change, so you won't be the one to face the bunt of their rabies. No immunizations. Just pure canine spark, that grinds it's teeth at you while asking for a quarter, or "Whatever you can spare."..

The pockets are still empty. You tell...

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BLACK HORSE (part of Dave Webster's Series: The Four Horsemen)

Posted by mr. green the unanswered poet on September 1, 2009 at 1:34 AM Comments comments (6)

I think about the chances..

The slim, astronomically unfathomable odds...

The random meeting, somewhere in Dante's 8th Circle perhaps...

Among the Evil Impersonators, gripping the grocer's smiles. The stamp fisted, barcoded debit that you take to work and Sunday morning prayer vigils...

How they resembled your angelic smile...

How you bat your eyes no...

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