PROMISSORY NOTE
Amount : $19,000 4/1/2019
FOR VALUE RECEIVED, the undersigned, Jessica Katelyn Lovegrove, hereby promises to pay to the order of Austin Richard Richard Lovegrove , the principal sum of $ 19,000 pursuant to the terms and conditions set forth herein.
PAYMENT OF PRINCIPAL. The principal amount of this Promissory Note and any accrued but unpaid interest shall be due and payable in Forty Eight (48) payments beginning 4/1/2019. All payments under this Note shall be applied first to accrued but unpaid interest, and next to outstanding principal. If not soo
The flood has receded
So now I can finally say
“Your Scottish gait could make Degas blush”
As you stir earthy brackish waters
By the dockmaster’s station;
Where we fantasize about
Getting lost in that labyrinth
Pressed so close
To the edge of this world
I cast a magic spell
Ti voglio bene.
We cast a glance over our shoulders and ask
“Does the Minotaur live here?”
Oh, he’s harmless now
A character in a vaudeville
Or trapped in the basement of the axis mundi
Facing a rugged monolith
With scarred red bricks.
He can’t harm us
Ti voglio bene.
In the distance we can see
Jutting above the tree line l
I'm not sure if I believe
Free will actually exist.
But I once did the moon walk
On the second floor of the Eiffel Tower.
If I ever have to give a power point presentation
On why free will might exist
I will use that moment as evidence.
I think there is a market out there for
Self-loathing poetry
And like any aspiring young capitalist
Of course I want to tap into that.
I mean they type of poetry where the author talks about
Drinking too much cough syrup
and crashing their car into a gas station.
Then as the smoke clears you see him
Running down the street.
His pants bulging with
Mad dogs, Orange Drivers, and cigarette cartons.
Yes
If I could harness that type of self depreciating
Gobbledygook
I'm sure people would eat it up.
First Star of the Night, a Child's Mind by waffle26, literature
Literature
First Star of the Night, a Child's Mind
Eating apple pie,
I could see you from across the street,
under the rosy hum of the city.
You looked just like a daytime version of a night hawk Jesus,
With your burlap loathing and electric halo suspended.
I was mistaken.
I thought about the time I brought flowers to your father in prison.
We talked for an hour about Picasso and drank milk.
He never told me why he hated you so much.
I thought I could become that bridge between love and dead love.
I was wrong.
Was it because he never saw your bedtime Buddha face afterglow?
I said I would be there if you ever got sick of wading through that
Chrysanthemum kaleidoscope of disappointm
I don't Care
If anyone sees this
I'm putting this here for the nobody's
The no ones
The Loners
The Outsiders
The desert dwellers
The wine drinkers
The Junkies
The poets
The mad men
And the vintage alarm clock collectors
I'm putting this here for you.
Smashsmashsmashsmash
Beat it bend it wreck twist it
Stomp it in with my foot
It still doesn't fit
It use to look like a square
Or was it a trapezoid?
I can't remember anymore
Whack it with a hammer
Bash it with a rock
No
No
No
No
It will never fit
We are trapped with this
Horrible thing forever
There use to be a house here
But now it's gone
The former owners are
probably dead
The only way you can tell
That there use to be a house here
Is because every year
The daffodils they planted
Still bloom
I bought a couch today
Colored a hideous split-pea soup green
Probably from the 70s
With a giant coffee stain on the armrest
Ten dollars
and it has a pull out bed too
I sat on it
It was uncomfortable
I like that
Because I hate having company over
Hopefully
When people sit on my ugly uncomfortable couch
It will hurt their back and they will leave quickly
It's unsightly really
But I like ugly things
Pretty things are over-rated
I feel like I was put on this Earth
To appreciate ugly things
And make people uncomfortable
PROMISSORY NOTE
Amount : $19,000 4/1/2019
FOR VALUE RECEIVED, the undersigned, Jessica Katelyn Lovegrove, hereby promises to pay to the order of Austin Richard Richard Lovegrove , the principal sum of $ 19,000 pursuant to the terms and conditions set forth herein.
PAYMENT OF PRINCIPAL. The principal amount of this Promissory Note and any accrued but unpaid interest shall be due and payable in Forty Eight (48) payments beginning 4/1/2019. All payments under this Note shall be applied first to accrued but unpaid interest, and next to outstanding principal. If not soo
The flood has receded
So now I can finally say
“Your Scottish gait could make Degas blush”
As you stir earthy brackish waters
By the dockmaster’s station;
Where we fantasize about
Getting lost in that labyrinth
Pressed so close
To the edge of this world
I cast a magic spell
Ti voglio bene.
We cast a glance over our shoulders and ask
“Does the Minotaur live here?”
Oh, he’s harmless now
A character in a vaudeville
Or trapped in the basement of the axis mundi
Facing a rugged monolith
With scarred red bricks.
He can’t harm us
Ti voglio bene.
In the distance we can see
Jutting above the tree line l
I'm not sure if I believe
Free will actually exist.
But I once did the moon walk
On the second floor of the Eiffel Tower.
If I ever have to give a power point presentation
On why free will might exist
I will use that moment as evidence.
I think there is a market out there for
Self-loathing poetry
And like any aspiring young capitalist
Of course I want to tap into that.
I mean they type of poetry where the author talks about
Drinking too much cough syrup
and crashing their car into a gas station.
Then as the smoke clears you see him
Running down the street.
His pants bulging with
Mad dogs, Orange Drivers, and cigarette cartons.
Yes
If I could harness that type of self depreciating
Gobbledygook
I'm sure people would eat it up.
First Star of the Night, a Child's Mind by waffle26, literature
Literature
First Star of the Night, a Child's Mind
Eating apple pie,
I could see you from across the street,
under the rosy hum of the city.
You looked just like a daytime version of a night hawk Jesus,
With your burlap loathing and electric halo suspended.
I was mistaken.
I thought about the time I brought flowers to your father in prison.
We talked for an hour about Picasso and drank milk.
He never told me why he hated you so much.
I thought I could become that bridge between love and dead love.
I was wrong.
Was it because he never saw your bedtime Buddha face afterglow?
I said I would be there if you ever got sick of wading through that
Chrysanthemum kaleidoscope of disappointm
I don't Care
If anyone sees this
I'm putting this here for the nobody's
The no ones
The Loners
The Outsiders
The desert dwellers
The wine drinkers
The Junkies
The poets
The mad men
And the vintage alarm clock collectors
I'm putting this here for you.
Smashsmashsmashsmash
Beat it bend it wreck twist it
Stomp it in with my foot
It still doesn't fit
It use to look like a square
Or was it a trapezoid?
I can't remember anymore
Whack it with a hammer
Bash it with a rock
No
No
No
No
It will never fit
We are trapped with this
Horrible thing forever
There use to be a house here
But now it's gone
The former owners are
probably dead
The only way you can tell
That there use to be a house here
Is because every year
The daffodils they planted
Still bloom
I bought a couch today
Colored a hideous split-pea soup green
Probably from the 70s
With a giant coffee stain on the armrest
Ten dollars
and it has a pull out bed too
I sat on it
It was uncomfortable
I like that
Because I hate having company over
Hopefully
When people sit on my ugly uncomfortable couch
It will hurt their back and they will leave quickly
It's unsightly really
But I like ugly things
Pretty things are over-rated
I feel like I was put on this Earth
To appreciate ugly things
And make people uncomfortable
[i wanted to be a woman]so i bought two sets of earrings.
silver-gleam hooks. bright-eyed, winking happy as a wish.
but i don't think the magic trick worked too well. they ate
out the edges of my ear, murmuring false hopes.
[shaved legs are so female] i shave my rounded-out limbs
to feel smooth as my adolescent days[ as smooth as a secret].
i kick them, child-like, perched on a chain-rung fence with baby pigtails
jammed mercilessly down my throat. [it’s my first time wearing them].
the silver comes back in the shape of razor lines embedded
in pink plastic [or soft blue or girl-green]. it runs smooth
across hairs and skin and dead-ce
An ambulance flies down the empty street
It's siren's wail becomes a saxophone
Playing cool beneath the blue moon
Flags wave in the darkness at half-mast
Hospital lights are white and cold
An IV in the ICU for cocktails
Play it, brother, play through the rain
Birthing notes as lost as our souls
Gin and a Pall Mall in the morgue
To feel the humming
of vocal chords, soft,
building to a peak;
a release of life.
It rings through the ears,
a chorus of bells
and pure emotion
tuned through the body;
rising in the heart
like an ocean storm.
Is there anything
as freeing as this?
The world holds a song
that will complete me,
filling the hollow
part within my soul
left from the searching.
How I long to find
this elusive piece
that fits the puzzle
of my lost being.
When will my solo
become my duet?
I felt kansas flying by in reflections of green sighs.
At 75 mph under the raw tires, hovels and trailer houses
look smaller than life. They pointed me to manhattan and salina
but the dashed lines of hurried mapmakers and the jerked thumbs at rest stops
didn't honestly expect me to visit.
No one exits at mile 117: there are only chryslers running on pure speed straight through
to honeymoon mexico.
The interstate makes america untouchable and
the two-lane highway people too friendly,
manic roving eyes and tongues cannot conceal that
it's been too long since fresh wind blew over these old chicken-grease
lacquered walls, what a treat
Sometimes I wish for the taste of metal
The graceful ringing crunch
Of a blue sheet
Being pushed and pulled out of the civilised world
Only to return to another version of the
Unstructured wild it once came from
The only remnants of its past life:
Blue paint.
Sometimes I wish for the taste of metal
Of reflective glass splintering away
From a shiny silver page
That tells the stories of fleshy robots
Cynical and vain
Looking for aurbrushed photographs
In the simple dirty reflection of mechanical procedures.
Sometimes I wish for the taste of metal
Of small, rusted, shining shapes
Dully glinting in the brightest midday sun
Refle
New York City, Summer 1988 by LlyrentheShrew, literature
Literature
New York City, Summer 1988
The sun is a strange acidic-shade-of-pink
and metallic waves of shimmering heat obscure the asphalt
all I can do is sleep.
Scorched air from the concrete sidewalks below, floats
through the open window.
A constant-thump-of-rap vibrates the floor
and filters into my dreams.
Garam masala and saffron rice
fresh falafel and Hare Krishna beans
escape street vendors
to invade my afternoon nap.
The rosemary, basil, sage, mint,
coaxed into existence on the kitchen ledge
may fight this battle bravely
but they will lose the war.
Current Residence: Underground bomb shelter Favourite genre of music: Everayyyyyyyythangaaaa :D Operating System: AVIDAC Favourite cartoon character: Ed wong hau peplu tivrusky the 4th
Favourite Visual Artist
The zebra that lives in my couch.
Favourite Movies
Eraserhead , Clockwork range , 2001: A Space Odessy
Favourite Bands / Musical Artists
Radiohead , Bjork , Sonic Youth , Bob Dylan , Pixies , Velvet Underground, Charles Mingus
Scary Gary is back in town today so my father and I decided to drop by and visit while he was hanging out at our neighbors house for the evening. We put on our jackets and headed across the street as a cold drizzle of rain filtered through the clouds. As we entered the dilapidated 70s style mobile home, smoke damaged curtains, tinged yellow, could be seen hanging in the kitchen. The floors had no carpet; a bare wooden sub-floor showed and the air smelled of cooking grease and tobacco.
Scary Gary, a large man, was sitting at small round table, drinking coffee and smoking cheap Cheyenne cigarettes with Jame's wife Margaret. The black widow spi
Hello, kind of drunk at the moment. Listening to some free jazz and drinking a beer. Down to my last one. John Coltrane can play the Hell out of the saxophone! Good God! Interstellar Space. You have to check out this album. I don't know what else to say. Happy holidays. It's December first. Pay check time! Mmmmmm My fingers fell tingly. Weird. bYE
I don't have the urge for it. There is nothing worse than forced art. My time as a poet (if you want to call me that), was short lived, like the life of a luna moth or a mid-summer storm. Thanks for reading.