Anger.
from listening to too much Juliana Hatfield and Sonic Youth
not enough Weezer and Sheryl Crow
from painting with too much blood red and shit brown
not enough robin-egg blue and violet
shave your split-end hair
drape the clippings over a piss-stained armchair
scream shriek bellow seethe
recite the 23rd Amendment
retrace your steps
to the moment you started loathing everyone
from wolfing down too much jalapeno chips and cucumbers
not enough mixed greens or turmeric
from drinking too much lager and cheap bourbon
not enough milk and carrot juice
repaint the front door mauve shred the bank statements julienne…
A poem about my imaginary beard.
You were once
a desired friend,
an excuse,
a pass
for heterosexuality.
“My dream girl,
the Ideal Name
of my future wife.”
conveniently featureless
with a horrid stretch of creamy canvas
tucked and wrapped
around your head
a taunt orb of colorless flesh,
deflecting any thoughts of my Horrific Affliction
the Mark of the Limp-Wristed Cain
unconditional love
from a conditional figment of my uninspired imagination
but like a pasted beard
slithering down my whiskered, rubbery chin,
you slipped from my frenzied clasp
and I watched you dissolve before me, crystallized dewdrops hovering in the blood-orange sunrise and you were…
A nocturnal poem.
Dusk,
my ancient friend,
You swaddle me in cloths of indigo and spruce,
brush away my bangs with your foamy hands,
and recruit your comrades
the wolf and the owl
to serenade me to sleep.
Two pairs of eyes
steel grey and fierce arctic blue
gaze upon my helpless state
lacking sympathy and carnal instinct
just neutral curiosity
They watch
as you, Dusk,
place your plush lips
upon my furrowed brow.
The shriveled umbras peer through the window
frigid as the plated, icy glass
their palms stretch across the pane
merging into cobalt icicle spiders. …
A poem.
Deepest praise
honor to your insurmountable might
thriving on the frustrating ambiguity
of your omnipotent mystique
Your seeds of doubt
the fruits of your wavering faith
taste savory and sweet
on the lips of your enemies
they awaken
an insatiable craving
We await
your divine instruction
The Cryptic Commission,
our humanitarian call to action
we, your prostrate disciples,
mystified
by your non-binary reign
Those skeptics, those nascent scholars, dissect your mantras, rituals, traditions, and liturgies accentuate the superficiality of your existence your futile words, limp upon your lips shameful spittle the foundation of your cause is it built upon rock…
Or lack thereof, unfortunately.
It should go without saying these last few months have been physically, mentally, and emotionally draining. Emphasis on the latter ailment.
There hasn’t been a day since that hasn’t been preoccupied, at least partially, with the current racial tensions bubbling over in every major city in the United States, even spilling over into major global cities. It’s exciting in that regard, that we, as a global civilization, have reached a general consensus that we aren’t as progressive as we thought, that true progress, true growth deserves meaningful reflection and introspection. Black lives, native lives, womyn’s lives, Latinx lives, queer, trans…
Arthur Ramirez
Born and raised in CA. Film, literature, music, poetry, mostly gay/queer/GSM topics. Stick around if I haven’t bored you yet.
