FD's poetry

FD · Status: Offline

RE: FD's poetry

FD · Status: Offline

[fifteen minutes]

Glistening colors revealing his fall,
the mad hatter feels at home
amongst the red balloons with silvery smoke
filled rooms grasping and slashing at straws.

The band plays again (one last time).
His insanity reaching, his pride unending
a musicians death the only fitting end,
A tragedy expected by all.

FD · Status: Offline

Room 226

Warm sunny feeling inside
shady cold basement-
not weeping.
Elated by all that is overlooked,
sipping back some Kaufman.
Cringing as the putrid drug smoke wafts
into twisted mockeries of all I think I know.
Crusty old jazz beat lingering in the smoky air.

"Nothing is forever," he says
you always get change
when you sell your soul.

FD · Status: Offline

301

Oily black stained highway,
cruising curvy Mullhulland,
but I don't mind,
cause it gives me time to write-
while my head's still lost
in a Carroll-esque wonderland
searching out the rabbit hole
just to steal a toke
from the caterpillars hookah.

(I have a little red book,
I write in when I'm thinking,
and Sam The Man
still owes me five bucks).

Dream_______beyond_______reality.
Open my eyes to other
places of being, other-
cultures, other-
hymns of absent aesthetics.

FD · Status: Offline

307

While the Lucid drop their anxiety
on a thought highway bound for nowhere,
or somewhere;
I sift through spontaneous thoughts
in a stream of consciousness
like attention deficit
and hypochondriac dis-eases of the mind.

I've worn so many hats
getting comfortable in my own skin,
gazing at cement imagery
in a world of steel and gray,

and nobody's got the cure but me.

FD · Status: Offline

Feeling the music. No! Not
just hearing, but feeling
that
THUMP!
THUMP!

THUMP!
in my chest, burning-
High on whatever it is they pass my way.

FD · Status: Offline

317: New Beginnings

Catapult the ego into bright flares
of red and purple. Brilliant light
displays of imagination sparkling
down on the nation. This is the new age.

With ex generation x
locked in mind struggle
with generation y bother.
It's time for a new radical movement.
Not flowers and hippies,
but intellectuals and poets.

A resurgence of pride.
Taking back our land,
our nation, our government
in search of that higher thought process.
It can be ours.

We seek to re-light the spark of American youth.
Rouse them into action
when their backs' against the wall.
Retake San Francisco, retake New York.
Step out from the glare
of Hollywood's spotlight.

Step off the sidewalk,
throw down the chains of lethargy
and join the movement.

FD · Status: Offline

325 at 6:00AM

I always knew trash men were the real gypsies
with their constant gathering
and roaming.

Always trust the trash man
to be there at six AM
on tuesday
in his giant phallic trash truck
to tell me my trash isn't separated properly.

Green and black and brown
it doesn't matter to me
when I'm done with it.

Don't you know this is the disposable age?

Like I'm even alive at six.