Tuesday, April 3, 2012


she said fuck was a lazy word
she was right
is lazy
I am lazy
I fuck lazy if I even do at all
it seems, I have better things to do with my legs
my hips
I have better things to do with my fingers
like smashing them with hammers
and taking photographs of barbed wire fences
as if they were panties on thighs
thighs on sheets
skin inked waiting
My thighs are cameras
My eyes
Television screens
My back is a DVR
replaying  yesterday's fuck with every bend
every twist of my spine
my legs, they run
Even when I am on my knees
with a mouth full of fuck
a mouth full of  fire that needs to be spit out
but I swallow
 because my belly remembers the taste
of being hungry
my belly remembers the taste
of being
my belly remembers
my throat, it  has Alzheimer's
my throat, it has Alzheimer's
My throat, does not remember
So it gives it away
To the day
To each moment
I give it away
To strangers
other thighs
and the lenses between them
a snapshot of a fuck
a fuck of a photo
and cigarette boxes between my teeth
but you,
you have better things to do
you do not like photos
you have better things to do
better fingers
you have better things
you have better things beneath your tongues
your tongues are not lazy
they fuck with purpose
they fill us full
they fuck us untill we are afraid
to whisper
hold you
to wrap you up and do something better
to take pictures and pin them between our rib cages
where you might find them
where you might love them
where you might
need them
you see
pumping hearts fail
but pumping hips fuck
and fucking people move people move feet  move hands move people move legs
into muscles into hearts into ink into words that sometimes
aren't pretty
motivated by anything but a world
that is sometimes
not happy
or pretty
but red, white and blue
when it is black
it is sex
it is dirty sheets and discussions
held deep under ground
under sand
underneath the hearts
of those that do not understand
your language
that do not understand flowers
or sunsets or  the cowboys that ride off into them
people that do not understand
how they have become buried beneath the bodies
of what was once
how god looks down upon them
for being
for being dirty fingernails and grease
for being poor, broke
and out of work
for being a high school education
how he  reigns down upon them
for being born in the right place
in the wrong time
on the wrong side of the tracks
the wrong side of the ocean
how we look down upon them
for being "spics, niggers, towel heads, or white trash mother fuckers"
for being out of work, addicted, homeless and sick
for being gas station cashiers
cocktail waitresses
and migrant workers
     for being in love in our communities
how they are looked down upon
for just being
for simply saying
what it is they are saying
what it is they are doing
for being lazy
for fucking
for being fucked
for fucking doing it wrong
for being fucking furious
from being on the inside while the outside looks in and says
as they drive by, barely slowing down to get a good look
a good idea of what it is they know
what it is they don't
as they drive by on their way to the horizon
where the sunsets fade into morning
with nothing in between
not even a simple

submitted to dbverse poets open link night


  1. This feels like it would be an incredible spoken word piece, with the rhythms and repetitions framing the listener like an insistent beat.

  2. Thanks you Semaphore! I am glad you stopped by and that you enjoyed the piece. When I started , my intention was not to write a spoken word piece (since I do not speak my poetry all that well) but it seems as if this one had its own intentions

  3. I see now it is "Sam". Thanks Sam!

  4. heck...i missed reading your poetry as well dustin...an awesome piece...and i agree with sam..this would make for a fantastic spoken word piece.. life is ugly at times and plays ugly at times...and we are in no position to blame someone or look down on someone..thanks for this...love the message...

  5. Great rolling rhythm as the piece takes off on its own road trip. I have the feeling on another day it might have taken some different trails and that's what makes it feel fresh off the page... picking up sweets and stench along the way. It's alive... loved the experience of it.

  6. def would make a great spoken word piece man...i could hear it as i read...provocative but without losing what it is saying some really great touches through this...and creatively delivered...well done...