avariciousyouth

I need sleep..........

2009-10-14T07:32:56Z

In God’s garden there stood two trees. The first tree was known by many, as many stories have been told about this tree, and in every story it was said to have been the tool by which man’s fall had been facilitated. On its branches hung the fruit of knowledge, a fruit that when consumed caused man to realize himself in relation to the world around him, and through this untempered knowledge become self aware, but lacking the experience to understand his new knowledge, he would know only the shame of it. The second tree bore a fruit in which laid the redemption of the fruit of first tree. On its branches hung the fruit of wisdom, a fruit that when consumed would cause man to accept the conditions of his existence, and give temperance to his knowledge of himself. The Serpent, who had tricked man into eating the fruit of the first tree, knew that by allowing man to only eat from the first tree, he would be more likely to fall prey to his own vices and conceit. God, who had imbued his children with free will, felt that a lesson needed be taught to his children for having ignored his instruction not to eat the fruit from the first tree. He decided that man would achieve the fruit of wisdom only through his hard work and suffering, and in this way would come to appreciate the nature of God’s creation.

Early in the morning.....

2009-10-06T06:36:41Z

These

two birds

are not doves

just filchers

picking at seed

our eyes spill

from sockets

and reconcile at

a point

between us

to play a game

of give and take

an earnest

blessing

on a steeple

of need

..............................

2009-04-07T04:09:49Z

Dont trust your heart to reckless people
I am tired of being human for this imperfect audience
this is no host of angels
just barflys gathered around the spill
dogs lapping with sour tounges
This abused organ
will no longer reabsorb the wisdom that it leaks
What was the name of that drug?

avariciousyouth @ 2009-02-07T11:33:00

2009-02-07T17:37:51Z

It is creepy when your family members become human beings. When mothers and siblings, aunts, uncles, and grand parents become more than the projections of our expectations for them.

You never changed to me. Then one day all at once you were old.

I was always your favorite. Even when I was younger and a total twat. I saw most of the united states out the window of your van. When you had your 50 year highschool reunion I was the one you chose to escort you. When we sent you on a cruise for your 80^th birthday I was the one chosen to accompany you. I never really understood why. I was always the worst sort of traveling companion. I am not the most patient person, I can be terribly moody and irritable, and I am sensitive sometimes to a fault. But still, if given the option it was always me you wanted with you. This is not the first time you've been sick. When we were kids you never wanted us to see you fragile in bed, filled with tubes spilling fluids. To be honest, I never really wanted to see it either. When you were sick I was often nowhere to be found. When I was sixteen and you had cancer I went so far as to run away to New Orleans. I am older now though, and id like to think much less of a twat. I still only spend as much time at the hospital as propriety requires of me. But I have plenty of other responsibilites. There is paperwork to sign, there are bills to pay, and someone has to keep your daughters from robbing you blind. I am not a nursemaid. It is fortunate that we both share the same refined sense of irony and can atleast laugh at the awkward occurences when no one else is around to assist with some of your more human needs. It is fortunate you have other grandchildren better suited to that sort of thing. My knee jerk reaction is to run away.

The hospital was overpopulated, and the only space they could find for you was against a wall in the hallway. They placed a cloth divider infront of your bed that did not afford any modesty or privacy.Though any of either of those things was just an illusion here. This was a place of open wounds, and every wound had sixteen hands; sixteen hands poking and prodding, asking you if you are comftorable, filling you with fluids from plastic bags with tiny plastic tubes , taking your fluids away in tiny glass tubes and little plastic cups. I watched you sleep from the vantage point of where my chin rested on the railing of your hospital bed. Several doses of Demerol had removed from you any sort of gentle composure. Your mouth hung open slackjawed. Your skin hung in folds where it met the sharp angles of your cheek bones. Occasionally your eyes would flutter open and you would crawl back into conciousness. We would have a brief conversation about the doctors latest update, sometimes I would have to remind you where you were. Then you would drift back to sleep.

I saw you there skin and bone, I saw the crook of your nose, the crook that was also your childrens nose. The wrinkles in your forhead read like a letter to god asking him, “Why?”. You were so fragile.You have always been so strong, when the doctors commented on how it was amazing that you were still living at home, and asked me who was taking care of you, I did not really know how to respond. Who takes care of her? That is an absurd question. She takes care of us. Even as the machinery fails its purpose runs deep. No one “takes care” of my grandmother. We assist her from time to time, but no one “takes care” of her. She is here because she is driven and chooses to be. Because she has a calling and a purpose.

To my eyes you never changed

but were old all at once

around the corners your words are faded

I can hear ghosts rattle in your chest

but even diminshed

you convey

a dream, a life, a purpose

and I love you nonethless

To whom it does concern...........

2009-01-22T02:46:03Z

Tomorrow
dogs my discretion
with inflamed ideas
of my right
to exist
versus
the idea that
I was never there
but I have proof
to absolve my perdition

so fuck you

Who needs sleep anyway?

2009-01-15T08:39:10Z

Quibbling thought
beyond the waking hours
dreams that talk
through open mouths
better left shut
for walking tongues
have forks
and open splits
and gaps
between us

I have seen better days, far away..............................

2009-01-12T10:26:37Z

the snails
have left there shells
for a home
in florida
all is well
we chew the fat
of crippled whales
crunching the numbers
backwards
You ask me a question about life
to which the answer
is rhetorical

Another day another ramble.

2008-07-08T04:39:11Z

Ive seen the sun a
burning beast
black spots on the
asphalt      my iris opens
and bleeds there is no
gentle imagery
   a shock and a cause
to a wink and a nod
perspective

------------------------------------------------

This was the fall
eighteen years two tooth
picks                                a
mouthful of gravel      we
climbed long legged with
giant steps over the
carrion     and vultures
      the bonds of Mary's
   mother sagged with
milk dread into the
deepest hill             I
looked over at you     and
you were my shadow
              fallen in step
with my unsure footing

Say it loud say it proud.

2008-04-14T03:04:40Z

I am Icarus
with a
gun
shooting my
cock off
at the sun
spite the  world
       spit in
its eye
wax  runs off my
back
for  all the tears
ill never cry

something old something new.

2008-04-11T10:07:02Z

I only knew the women with the strange butts
theyd lick the censorous camphor with no regrets
pluck the lazy dragons from the vanilla sky
juicing the pariahs stony gaze from his orbital skull

I only knew the women with strange butts
who clamboring through stony peeks
masked the lilly with the orchid
tasting the oily gaze of the manaquin turnabout

I only knew the women with the strange butts`
who in strangled times ate the children of the sun
answered questions with flowers
and folded in with the rythyms of the spent word

.....................................

the sky was dark
I liked to look at the pictures we would make
together on the front steps
your love your love
was words I could count
but could not reveal
anothers steps shadowed
walking from the point between us
we are we are
children of a different name
that was so long ago
owls fly by wisdom
and flowers often grow
withered to decay

quibbling with words thoughts and bad formatting

2008-04-11T09:52:52Z

The sons of
Adam
the daughters of
the rib                 eat
this and            live
                     shit
this               dog is
gonna kill me
              someday
tear my
throat out if its
all the same to
you          ill
choose to
decline                to
comment on my
sins
     at this time
at this time
at this time
tomorrow
we will all be
gone anyway
               drunk or
the rapture
take your pick
         ill choose to
lie here             till
the earth takes
me whole and
sick

.......................

on pins and
needles              I
       slowly dance
waving the
sword of Arjuna
               for
chance         for
love               for
circumstance

......................

the random life
of bees
drunk again
rainbow
abraisions
and
pink meat
sandwiches
.......................

peace and sleep
an angel nest
crowned with
thorns fitfull rest
for slumbering
giants of feeling
and if they
awaken they
surely will
consume me

......................

my love is
not another
street
there is only one
destination
home. Can I
come home
love? Will you
welcome me
with embrace?
Can i leave my
shoes at
your door?

Dark star crashes, pouring its light into ashes.

2007-03-26T06:17:48Z

They remembered him for the cape he wore, for the gaudy jewelry he wore by the pound. They remembered how towards the end of his life he ate to much, and drank too much, that his health waned, and that his once handsome face sagged with wrinkles too deep for
someone only in there middle years. What they remembered him for was no longer what he was, but what he had been. Now he was just a corpse, A badly decomposed corpse, that nothing could breathe life back into. Those who knew him were dead, and those who had stood in his presence were a generation aging out of the population. His name, his face, became a cliche for a younger generation. Unable to draw parallels between him and the stars of there age, his meaning was lost, the person gone, only the icon remained.