Disposable Poetry

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poems written on the fly

Tiny Rimbaud

“That’s it!” he yelled to the clouds above
“I quit writing forever!”
And he did
And nobody noticed

EL SEBBO

Filed under: poetry

Buddies

You thought I was gone
but you were wrong
My absence lingers
and your back feels
a little warmer

EL SEBBO

Filed under: poetry

keep to the path

black
of night

yellow
of heart

red
of soul

white
of the coming dawn

(D. James)

Filed under: art, bad poetry, bad sex and bad breath, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing , , , , ,

the dog at the end of the tunnel

yellow toothed dog
stares through
blood-shot eyes
in my nightmare

drooling
I know he
wants me
for his last meal

I’ve run from him
for hours now
maybe even days

in the end
he’ll have his way
because that dog
keeps me honest
because that dog
is me

his hot breath
rank with death

the only escape
is to wake
but either I can’t
or I already have

I’ll know in a minute
as he approaches
and I am too weak
to move

One way or the other
it ends here

(D. James)

Filed under: art, bad poetry, bad sex and bad breath, d. james, literature, overweight champions, poem, poetry, snuff poems, writing , ,

undecided

I saw you standing
on the edge of a shadow

in the space where
sunlight and darkness meet
in the endless battle
of night and day

waiting
for something
in yourself
to appear

but the struggle
was too great
and you remain
undecided

(D. James)

Filed under: art, bad poetry, bad sex and bad breath, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing , , , , , ,

contrition

What is the sound
of nothing falling
in the city?

(D. James)

Filed under: art, bad poetry, bad sex and bad breath, d. james, literature, overweight champions, poem, poetry, writing , ,

nightrider

The half-moon laughs
as we tear up the road
screaming at the night

With nothing but chrome
and black gloss
we ride ’til dawn

Our piece of heaven
forged in hell
hanging with the
fallen angels

And when the sun rises
we’ll put another night
to rest

(D. James)

Filed under: art, bad poetry, bad sex and bad breath, d. james, literature, overweight champions, poem, poetry, snuff poems, writing , , , , , , , ,

The open game

Life
is the imitation
of art

EL SEBBO

Filed under: poetry

seen art

Dancers move in minutia
mocking the audiences limbs

Little man bangs his head
against a bell
at random

the sound echoes
through the staid museum

In a large room
marionettes do a mechanical
danse macabre

their tiny metal feet
tapping rhythmically on
the wooden floor

We are left
sitting in the corner
wondering why this is all
so mesmerizing

(D. James)

Filed under: art, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing ,

Time out

Time flies like a b-1 bomber
slow and dangerous
you can hear its reactors humming
above your head
but you don’t know
where it’s headed
and you don’t care
- at least
you pretend
you don’t

EL SEBBO

Filed under: poetry