Arithnatic

A poem don't add up to lyrics
If you doubt it, then go ask the limericks
Add rhyming line here,
multiply FUCK there
You don't win a slam with just lyrics

In Case of flirting

In case you catch those eyes that have been starring for 10 consecutive minutes

Don’t smile

Don’t wait a while and slyly turn your head to bat your lids

Don’t twirl your hair

Or fidget in your chair

Act as if you didn’t notice him

Because your mental space is occupied by the image of your lovers face

Note: this only works if your partner has worth

Otherwise you’ve already strategically walked by switching harder than angry drivers in traffic

Opening opportunities for said admirer to inquire bout what your name be

Or maybe you’ve flashed your dimples moved your bag from the other empty stool

An invitation simple enough for a fool

Now car rides, conversations, bed acquaintances and lonely moments siting up waiting later…..

You wonder,, why you didn’t just resist

Oh how that past relationship shall be missed

The things we give for a taste of evanescent bitter bliss.

©Brion Gill 2013

Express Lane

Rubber rolling on smooth tarred gravel

Swerving around brake lights and threatening to rear-end those within the limits

Pressuring pedals on yellow

Anticipating green

Searching for a short cut ‘round vertical corporate ladders

Grasping hand held devices designed to make communication and knowledge consumption better

Hash tag trendsetter

Fingers tinkering on touchtone screens

reflexively stepping over exposed toes protruding from leather worn down from year of struggling against unyielding sidewalks

head tucked in emailed memos

methodically ordering a caramel macchiato

Bagel…toasted

Blindly bopping back down inert streets

Death to the heart beat lying on the bleak concrete

Ipod buds stuffed in

The vigor of the world vanishes

Like sideline scenery, observed from a car window, speedometer 120

Flowers become scentless whirls of color

People mere specs of sound that hover above the whistle of the wind

And life, nothing more than a passing moment.

©Brion Gill 2013

Day Eight: Instructional (Safety First...)

1. Commit to this program.

2.
Never
Ever
Let anyone in.

Ever.

3. Barricade that threshold to your being with oak boards and ebony panels that would give
Sampson nightmares of remembrance amidst his reverberations of understanding.

4. Shellac them till they shine with the goopy slime that was once your bleeding heart.
Let the sun blaze it to a blinding finish till Christ hangs his head because
he taught us all better than this but he lived it better than we ever could.

5. Scale this monument to your pain with your bare hands and burst in through the ceiling.
Paint target rings around the hole above you and practice your rock throwing.
Take comfort in knowing that anyone who missed the message at the door
is too foolish or too late to deserve your pity.

6. Curl your lips and hurl hurts freely.
Be fearsome. Be fearless.
Brush your teeth with your sword for the health of your razor tongue
Hide your gums
bloody from hurting words.
But stay strong and steadfast.
There are savages out there.

7. When the stars come
Resist the promise in their wishes.
When the rain comes
Reject the healing waters of redemption.
Curse the new day
and the born again passage of time.
Remain crystalized
hardened. fossilized
frozen. calloused.
petrified.
Do
not
move.

Stick to the plan.

(Instructions for loneliness sold separately)

Day Seven: Schizophrenia (Night of the Mind)

The murmur of voices
gurguling. Furiously colliding
Contending for the rights
To this oasis built for One.

One lay pinned down

Under the pressured current of voices

Sound rivers born from reservoirs of tension

Flowing from burning eyes 

Soaking the bed shrouded in mourning

They could not yet decide
If they would let her believe that she
was worthy of pain

or impatient for relief

or ready to be removed from suffering

Or fully responsible for her guilt

So they contended

and crashed

and gurgled and spit

They tore at her hope stained heart

spread their cloudy wings and 

shadowed everything with decline

As she 

           sloped into

                            her personal darkness

Her precious life garden now wilting

worm ridden optimism

decaying faith

brown spotted courage

She drooped with the pain of

promise unbloomed

as they continued to bid on her

ruins

One rose to greet her reflection
Saw them there dancing
Removed her suffering image
and smashed it

Stomped jubilantly on her shards
Then rummaged through the bloody mess
Trying to find the joy peace-is

The Impossibles (prompt: impossible/possible)

We are the “impossibles”

The mindless

Civilization-less

Country-less

Religion-less

History-less

Legacy-less

People.

Broken, stolen, ravaged, perverted, deserted, converted…

The unforgettable, forgotten

The powerful, powerless

The entrepreneurs without institutions

Yes we are the impossible

The “how did you make it this far”

The survivors

The mysteries

The children of generations who told us what we couldn’t be

The students of teachers who would have us believe our dreams are impossible fantasies

But such is our very family tree

There is nothing I can’t achieve

Because I am a walking impossible

So POSSIBLE is my destiny!

©Brion Gill 2013

She Moves (Sonnet)

She Moves (Sonnet)

Her body bends to the melody like branches in the wind

Swaying in chord

Back erect and stiff like wooden boards

She stares into the next move

Fruitioning her fluidity

Her feet slide across the floor like a summer breeze in kitchens when screen doors are left ajar

Her hair spins in pirouettes like the top of jars

Have you ever seen the little dipper?

Bet its nothing like the star constellation in her pupils

Dressed in black leotard

She’s a leaping galaxy

Her mind flowing and free in a gallant kaleidoscope of color

Her routine reaches a climax at the music’s crescendo and from her brow sweat pours

Now her heart demands an encore.

©Brion Gill 2013