Of breaking loose
In the aisles
Of grocery stores
Because of a magazine
Or some whitening strips
Because someone needs
Celebrity teeth.
10.31.2019
Culture
A war on the cusp
Lofty City Low is my poetry blog. I utilize it mostly for stream of consciousness writing exercises. The rawness of these writings supplies me with starting points for my creative works. Occasionally, I will post a fully-revised piece, looking for feedback. I hope you enjoy and connect with something I've put here. Feel free to comment. Thank you.
10.27.2019
A Working Man’s Best
How I've been counting-
In and out-
The slight rise and fall
Of your breathing
While you sleep
Another Saturday
In your work clothes
That you will wear
To service tomorrow
As if you didn't know
About the grease stains
And the wrinkles
When you give the Lord
A working man's best.
In and out-
The slight rise and fall
Of your breathing
While you sleep
Another Saturday
In your work clothes
That you will wear
To service tomorrow
As if you didn't know
About the grease stains
And the wrinkles
When you give the Lord
A working man's best.
Lofty City Low is my poetry blog. I utilize it mostly for stream of consciousness writing exercises. The rawness of these writings supplies me with starting points for my creative works. Occasionally, I will post a fully-revised piece, looking for feedback. I hope you enjoy and connect with something I've put here. Feel free to comment. Thank you.
Bedfellows
A day's worth of observation
Is knocking around in my head.
Like a prisoner on strike,
I think in maps.
Tunneling my way
From dead end to dead end
Until a pin-prick of light
Blinds me entirely.
I’ve only ever visted
The tattered places,
And laid my head
Upon the cold, remnant archs
Of dreams best suited
For those whose thoughts
Is knocking around in my head.
Like a prisoner on strike,
I think in maps.
Tunneling my way
From dead end to dead end
Until a pin-prick of light
Blinds me entirely.
I’ve only ever visted
The tattered places,
And laid my head
Upon the cold, remnant archs
Of dreams best suited
For those whose thoughts
Are cut from their roots
On the stardust spine of night
Lofty City Low is my poetry blog. I utilize it mostly for stream of consciousness writing exercises. The rawness of these writings supplies me with starting points for my creative works. Occasionally, I will post a fully-revised piece, looking for feedback. I hope you enjoy and connect with something I've put here. Feel free to comment. Thank you.
1.04.2018
No Such Thing as a Perfect Thought
I’ve waited my life/to have a perfect thought/where no blood spills/from family or passers by to stain my conscience/where no curse abides in dark, cobwebbed corners/waiting to spin its constricting yarn around my gray matter/where no love that’s been lost/drapes the fabric or its loose fitting sheet/ before my impaired vision/ I wait for thougths that should be encased in concrete from the ankles down/to float up to the tide pools in the forefront/where the preacher, the pallbearer, and the coffin/expressionless and familiar wait quietly, patiently/for me.
Lofty City Low is my poetry blog. I utilize it mostly for stream of consciousness writing exercises. The rawness of these writings supplies me with starting points for my creative works. Occasionally, I will post a fully-revised piece, looking for feedback. I hope you enjoy and connect with something I've put here. Feel free to comment. Thank you.
12.26.2017
A Tomb With a View
What's left to fear
When you're the only one
That's a native
Of the living, breathing
End
Lofty City Low is my poetry blog. I utilize it mostly for stream of consciousness writing exercises. The rawness of these writings supplies me with starting points for my creative works. Occasionally, I will post a fully-revised piece, looking for feedback. I hope you enjoy and connect with something I've put here. Feel free to comment. Thank you.
12.25.2017
Hallowed Light
Dying light still travels,
over the celestial barrens,
where the expanse still devours it.
It moves backward, too,
in spite of skeptic bones
and the hard eyes of telescopes.
It cascades down the ragged edges
of humanity, like wild honey,
dripping
from vagabond lips.
It cracks the rugged plains
in the sharpened night,
like a hand raised to a thief.
It cost quite a lot
To keep the light on.
over the celestial barrens,
where the expanse still devours it.
It moves backward, too,
in spite of skeptic bones
and the hard eyes of telescopes.
It cascades down the ragged edges
of humanity, like wild honey,
dripping
from vagabond lips.
It cracks the rugged plains
in the sharpened night,
like a hand raised to a thief.
It cost quite a lot
To keep the light on.
Lofty City Low is my poetry blog. I utilize it mostly for stream of consciousness writing exercises. The rawness of these writings supplies me with starting points for my creative works. Occasionally, I will post a fully-revised piece, looking for feedback. I hope you enjoy and connect with something I've put here. Feel free to comment. Thank you.
2.11.2015
Static 6
Catacomb eyes drift
Over the settling dust
We aren't in a rush
Lofty City Low is my poetry blog. I utilize it mostly for stream of consciousness writing exercises. The rawness of these writings supplies me with starting points for my creative works. Occasionally, I will post a fully-revised piece, looking for feedback. I hope you enjoy and connect with something I've put here. Feel free to comment. Thank you.
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