the necessary condition

A poetry blog

Month: August, 2012

…see you at a different speed.

keep your belongings under your seat,
r in the overhead carrier.
When the s
eatbelt sign is on,
please remain seated.

Here we go.
e you all at a different speed.
o? okay.




bore of a little whore.

She stroked his wings and hope he’d fly.
She never wante
d to know of that one lie.
The trick is an illusion that will put your wits to the test,
A seemingly mesh-like wing, must be solid to rest.

She thought those numbers meant something,
But in real
ity, they were just a measure.
A measur
e, which shared no direct meaning,
…regardless of their lifeless pleasure.

So she took him in and coveted his heart,
e knew it had stopped and was pinned with a dart.
he d
oesn’t care much anymore,
You pinned her as a bore of a little whore.

dream on, fuckers. take me away, st. xx



he’s having an old friend for dinner tonight.

I didn’t know it could be so tender.
I d
idn’t know it could be so nice.
I didn’t know it could bite you in the ass.
…Like a hu
ngry, angry, pack of mother mice.

I didn’t know it could be so liberating.
I didn‘t know it cou
ld be so fun.
I didn’t know it could eat my brains.
…Like Mr.Lecter befo
re an imprisoned run.

I didn’t know it could exist.
I di
dn’t know it could live.
I didn’t know it could break this heart.
…since it’s black a
nd the stitches don’t give.

silencing her lambs.




Tomorrow, you asked me to be your muse,
I g
ently caressed and blew your fuse.

So come with me into the dark,
warning: I will break the spark.

Pick my brain and braid my hair,
I’ll return the favour: lay you bare.

We’ll play your harmonica until it bleeds,
Into our black hearts, where monsters feed.

So bring a seed onto our bus,
we’ll grow it with our loving cuts.

the ramones 1979 | by bob gruen | light up my guitar, find your fame



inverted pentacles, vagina | steven tyler

We drew on some pentagrams.
Two in
verted pentacles, to be precise.
On the inside of our palms,
With one hand on my vag
ina + the remaining hands,
held together would most definitely suffice.

We prayed to Steven Tyler,
our bonding glue.
No one has ever understood my love for him,
as honestly, and atypically,
as d
isgustingly as you do.

You picked your track marks,
we scamm
ed under tape.
But the fucking hand,
hollered and made us abide
o specifics, boundaries, and shapes.

My night really started at 1:30 am,
my n
ight really started in the morning.
My night really started at 2 in the mourning.
My night really started with no proper warning.

steven tyler | joe perry -they’re on a couch…fuck boats.



filLed wITh smoke.

There was a run-over vinyl,
that su
mmed up the night,
one filled with tal
l boys,
and tall bois, and loser ones wanting to fight.

There was a paper airplane,
that carried his dream,
t 45 degrees he was at full tilt,
and full tilt, she shared, fuck issues of self- EST-team.

Good morning, good afternoon,
no goodbyes, but a d
efinite good night,
I later, was told there were fireworks,
who needs fireworks..? When you’re grasping thunder as light.
(_ x _
_ _ o _ _ i n a i r _)

billy joel | the stranger | nineteen seventy seven



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