another experiment, inspired by the late musician Arthur Russell

Source: Jr Korpa on Unsplash

the name of the next poem is perverse universe

we made a pact to lick
each other’s wounds
it’s difficult to feign indifference
more so to beat an invisible tambourine
yes, grander objects of affection
dearest thespian
are just as counterfeit, yet here I
am, slapping the twenty-dollar bill upon
the scarred wooden counter…

I Know Part of the End

Source: Steven Weeks on Unsplash

spell it like this
enunciate each syllable

not a bang
not a clash
not a whimper
nor a crash

I.
a universe
solely consisting
of burnt Folgers with too much cream
and lukewarm PG tips

where pastors and clergymen
through convincing, shit-eating grins
shred and eviscerate
every manifesto in the…

A belated Halloween-influenced poem.

Source: Aliagha Shirinov on Unsplash

i.

The unwanted children
cavort and gyrate
amongst the privileged
civilized
Minneapolis folk

I want everything to be normal again
I want everything to be normal again

Tight-lipped, Minnesota-passive (I mean NICE)
emotionally-stunted Minneapolis folk
summon the Blue-Badge Death Squad
to usher the Dionysian
to an imaginary orphanage

I want…

A Fuck-You to anything heteronormative.

Source: Adrian Swancar from Unsplash

they were once regal
here, the pristine couple
rooted in a manicured front lawn
you were once
the ideal aspiration, lofty daydreams
musings of enclosed, Easter family picnics

yet poised, erect, expectant
dreading to be erased
cringing in advance
sticking sliced thumbs into mouths
where no one offers bandages
where no one admits defeat…

Being too late.

Photo Credit: Nick Fewings on Unsplash

a sluggish mass, bundles of sore muscles
how cruelly we featured creatures
are stricken with the triviality of pining
chapped hands nursing feverish faces
caked in last night’s grime and sweat

wipe off those crumbs
order another bowl of tonkotsu
they wouldn’t want you anyway

spittle
creasing
upon
your lips
dry as sandpaper
lacking his…

Another lovesick poem.

Photo Credit: Dasha Vdovichenko from Unsplash

my palms smack the vertical plane
you, her, them, savoring a grassy knoll
there, me, reminded of my cowardice
this could have been mine

my palms, inches from the fistfuls of grass,
charred brown, always crumbling in my clutches
there, me, reminded of my leaden tongue
this could have been…

Arthur Ramirez

Aspiring novelist and amateur poet and op-ed writer on gay/queer/GSM topics. CA —> MN —> ? Stick around if I haven’t bored you yet.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store