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Showing posts with label Nightstalker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nightstalker. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 05, 2010

Prognosis Uncertain [Twitter Found Poem, May 5, 2010]

Prognosis Uncertain [Twitter Found Poem, May 5, 2010]
Tweets+Edits= #twitterfoundpoem

Magic 8 ball, The loud mouth in the crew,
says I have a fear of flying.
I love speaking to the pragmatics
about my only vice: fear! Lol!

I was told that I'm the nicest guy they ever talked to
I d0n't like meat
I love math,
I d0n't like the truth...
I love the messy, emotional drunk.
take advantage of that.
voice your opinion.

be careful: a vegetarian is the best
serial killer of all !
So true! #Dontbescared of the loud mouth in the crew.
they say the quiet ones are worse!!!

u WANT ME TO FOLLOW YOU?
Be careful what you ask for!!!
There are Night's stalkers about you (k)now!
A Good Night's Sleep Saves You From an Early Grave
BUT a messy, emotional drunk
is perfect for the Grim Sleeper.
A Good Night's Sleep Saves You From an Early
new life.

I love to Fight for me
and stay quiet... stay strong .
I take advantage of that.
I'm the nicest guy I ever talked to .

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Sunday, May 02, 2010

Brinksmen Fear the Nightstalkers [Today's News Poem, May 2, 2010]

Brinksmen Fear the Nightstalkers [Today's News Poem, May 2, 2010]

“A global nuclear conference that opens Monday is shaping up as a showdown between Iran and the United States, with each side jockeying for allies in the escalating dispute over the Islamic republic's nuclear program.”
– Mary Beth Sheridan and Colum Lynch, The Washington Post, Monday, May 3, 2010 edition; May 2, 2010
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/05/02/AR2010050203144.html

Yes, each of us makes his own way through the gutter
Evading the searchlight that scans through the night time:
We're stalking and weaving through hedges and gardens
Until we are caught by the beam—then we sputter
“This game is not fair.” Do we know it's to war prime
The boys of the city, whose fathers must harden
Their lambs into rams so the angels pass over
Their doors—to delay the last rest in the clover?

And later we jump off the buildings and fences
Each daring the others to jump ever higher.
Defeating the terror of gangs or pursuers—
We rattled ourselves to control our fear senses.
The brothers would mock my delays—I'm the crier.
We judged both the others, as pre-teen reviewers.

My best friend was Peter—he'd always outdo me
In drinking and smoking; in fucking—in winning.
A champ of a wrestler—the king of his high school
With motorbike charm and the guitar to match, he
Ignored me for years—I don't blame him for thinning
Our friendship back then, I was fat and a loud fool

Who dreamed in the daylight of searchlights in Berlin
Where dreamers of freedom were shot—they were fleeing.
While Peter discovered the pleasures of poppy,
I pleasured myself with my books as a shut-in.
His brother discovered the body—he's screaming,
And screaming I've heard since that day. I won't copy
The mode of his sorrow. I've learned to stop crying—
I've learned to be fearful: the brave ones die trying.

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