soberVISIONS's Profile - Poems |
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 | EMAIL to AmandaBy » soberVISIONS on Wed Jul 22, 20090 Comments | i saw a "catfound" sign today and it made me smile so does my thirty-years-old sister when she sucks her thumb and this Irish lady at the factory shes always cold and i helped her build a box and i sat in it for an hour and someone asked why and i said it was the only way to keep... |
| Simple SlicesBy » soberVISIONS on Wed Jul 22, 20090 Comments | Franco's phone dont speak English so Mick flips his lid at the dial tone and shoves the receiver up my nose so i baked a cake and we got ourselves a date its always the same date at the same place and hes always late we got to be at the corner by 10 and weve got empty pockets and... |
| Upside-Down HourglassBy » soberVISIONS on Wed Apr 1, 20090 Comments | i’ve got two hours to get drunk and bandana bangers are callin’ me Lolita i’ve got whiskey breath and a bottle-bottom i’m such an Irish-chiquita i’m broke so i shake my knees and say it’s nice to meet ya a twisted eye pirate tooth hurdles me some booze and tells me to... |
| A Conversation with AmandaBy » soberVISIONS on Fri Mar 6, 20091 Comment | * the bibbet-box broke two chicken legs and i ate both their breasts and lied to a French chef and told him his fish was expired simply because i really am dying from stomach worms * a raw burp out the wrong hole of a squirrel’s nut has been polished for hours over a Spanish... |
| Our Coversation is RipeBy » soberVISIONS on Sun Mar 1, 20090 Comments | i’m surprised all these pills haven’t killed me, yet heehaw! what vibrant veins i've got what a useful nose i’ve got i can’t comment on my brain maybe my heart how it’s all over this page and maybe burning up your eyes with no Pepto-Bismol to help but a silly image like... |
| Trumpet SquirtBy » soberVISIONS on Sun Mar 1, 20090 Comments | you’re a bean bag used as sock on the foot of an all day apple picker tired & tasty the sun hasn’t been pointing it’s fine ass at you for seven years those seven years of “i can’t afford a Father to keep my nose clean” but “i sure can afford to clean out my... |
| The Jukebox CackleBy » soberVISIONS on Sun Mar 1, 20091 Comment | you told me drugs are too good to be true so i used your Mother’s umbrella as a plug for eight months minus six rainbow days with hugs around my neck and a nipple of reason (that i forgot) but took three hours to take the bus from one stop to the next because the people were so... |
| Your Mother Knew it and Your Fish DiedBy » soberVISIONS on Sun Mar 1, 20091 Comment | the tighter the bra, the bigger the bitch, and i don’t wear a bra (or socks) even if i'm dressed i’m so damn naked because my mouth is so big so big a squirrel might think it’s a nut-hole which in reality it is, like an art cinema film where Salvador Dali would cut my eye open... |
| Uncle Wait-on-it-MurphyBy » soberVISIONS on Sun Feb 22, 20091 Comment | your tambourine dont clack or jangle like it used to, rusty red beard, no, all that cactus chewin aint sane old sir, you mop like a wet sock when you spit barbels into the puddles, those preppy puddles, only four fingers away from your tin foil feet those penny vacuums sucking out... |
| DamnitBy » soberVISIONS on Sun Feb 22, 20090 Comments | SYLVIA! did you strap that gas tank to your shoe? and suck suck suck on it like a jew? |
| Lift Your Lid, Lady!By » soberVISIONS on Sun Feb 22, 20090 Comments | he is long like a catipillar but he will never be beautiful like a butterfly (he is a pervert and a nail looking for a screw) |
| Prochaine StationBy » soberVISIONS on Wed Feb 11, 20091 Comment | the amputee tells a junkie-lean lady that when it comes to the egg the more boiled the beautiful, an asthma sucker smiles, because it’s true ya' see the blank white image the same but the bubbly beating unknown a memory a mystery a question of strength & untold evils of the... |
| Visions for Jack KerouacBy » soberVISIONS on Wed Feb 11, 20090 Comments | jack! where’s your box? Jean-Talon? where the cheap coloured suits say hey bella, come amo? you call your father? & i say that’s none of your business, okay? but sure, money maker – knee breaker, got a dollar to spare? got a phone to use? got a number to score? got a box... |
| Some More LS (Moi et Liana Pare)By » soberVISIONS on Wed Feb 11, 20090 Comments | if im a bird so are you, only because you chew rocks, instead of sipping soup strange winger with a tasty plate ya, oui, si little birdie cracking like a hallway banjo fancy clap skipping with toys and all the other birds... |
| Breakfast of ChampionsBy » soberVISIONS on Sat Jan 31, 20090 Comments | I woke up half-drunk, bra-less in a twelve-gauge magnum of a nightmare seven-o-clock in the annoyingly bright morning. The atleast six-foot, broad-shouldered, lightning-eyed, trendy ski-masked stranger woke me singing no lullabies but assuring me, the soon-to-be whore, if I screamed he would... |
| Bus RiderBy » soberVISIONS on Sat Jan 31, 20091 Comment | falling in love is so easy when smiling drunkenly but when my mad-girl catfish whisker needs a pull you are too intellectual to rip me yes yes you simple juice purified without pulp what if i write a scientific sex book would you do me plus two and minus six from my anus? i need a... |
| I'm Afraid to MicrowaveBy » soberVISIONS on Sat Jan 31, 20090 Comments | Jean-Lennon, ya’ caught me peeking at ya’ like a nocturnal Chinese-fish in a cabbage patch, obvious as a sputnik dreaming at you, instead of the burning stage all these legs look creative, but not crazy (like me) no, not that obsessive quality, not Cobain crazy no, not Plath... |
| Twenty KneesBy » soberVISIONS on Sat Jan 31, 20091 Comment | hey sir, you are as warm as a welcoming mat, yup i want to hug you i want it to be WELCOMING & WARM i want it to be sensual, i want it to be sexual, i want it to be spicy, NO! i want it to be saucy, SOY SAUCE! but please, no Chinese, i’m on a diet, maybe sprinkle me a plate... |
| HOWL for Liana PareBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Jan 20, 20092 Comments | monotone canaries whistling Sinatra waking the noon-dreamers from protectively hidden memories of tragic-comedies printed on banana-peels stuffed in the sealed Freudian-slip drawer & scattered recollection of the illusionary countless days of endless sunsets scratching crotches for... |
| The Boredom of BeerBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Jan 20, 20092 Comments | drunk in St. Henri, peeling band-aids off the abandoned gas-station onto the bloody butterfly of my knee flying on the backs of street-cats with broken doors hung off the hinges if i weren’t drunk i wouldn't be here i wouldn’t be in this sappost-to-be-white bathroom, which never has... |
| BillBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Jan 20, 20090 Comments | i saw you (there) stumbled righteously with a fishing rod. amused by the plastic rainbow creature orbiting mystically at the force of your drunkenness. your obvious toxic-helplessness welcomed me. so, i seated a sufi position three (estimated) metres of a slicing view to your... |
| The CottonBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Jan 20, 20091 Comment | nervous on Parc avenue, pacing through the rainbow-boîtes pastel & trippy baby gardens, dead flowers, prickle weeds, broken bottle under my shoe, ganja-mon begging me for one-seventy-five to hop for Tam’s he-lazy-stoned-don’t-wana-walk and i’m eating poets, spitting out drums... |
| FatBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Jan 20, 20090 Comments | your brain is overweight, the chemicals accumulating dopamine. yes. srotonin. yes. endorphins. maybe. so, why fret? DMT, GHB, and HIV. (OH, YEAH) drowning in a thick sugarless pudding, your pain is censored forced capsules decapitated from reality vegetable, you’re... |
| Cul-de-SacBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Jan 20, 20090 Comments | a cavernous head sheltering the vulnerable veins of the orange-peel littered streets poppy-filled teabags suckin’ smoke crystallized eyes wide for reaper bare-breast gardened with pig-tail hair nude as a knob twisting & turning bumbling & yearning for a succulent... |
| Ruby TuesdayBy » soberVISIONS on Wed Dec 3, 20080 Comments | After living five-years under a thick and dizzy spell of mixed uppers and downers, there are only two ways to quit (without relapsing). One being death (duh) and the other being hitting rock bottom, (a stepping-stone til’ the black wardrobe comes to fashion). It was a Tuesday, and... |
| Where Are You?By » soberVISIONS on Tue Dec 2, 20081 Comment | what happened to the righteous? i need an intellectual mind, who without word will instantaneously poke me and casually inform me of my bone measurements (WHERE ARE YOU?) it seems everyone but me at birth was performed a lobotomy, who now are dulled daily, amused by materials, and... |
| The Boiler RoomBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Dec 2, 20080 Comments | temperature rising – fever is high sweat is sweet, and everything you eat is cotton-coated divinity blows out your nose, the cold caught in the brain (uh-oh) a (squealing-schizo) convulsion is common confusion is natural illusion is clear (fear is nothing, because he... |
| Speed BallBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Dec 2, 20081 Comment | i have gone so far out, i just might not come back at all! each and every silent stare triggers a fire-coated bullet, i have become swiss-cheese (THE BUBBLEBATH) i soak in my loathing fear imitating innocence with my unbearable stench of guilt, and a nose as long as Pinocchio eyes... |
| SquareBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Dec 2, 20080 Comments | television alters (your) brain chemicals the mental architecture crumbles rubble the ill(s) of society are boxed behind a staticy rainbow of bla bla bla’s and ha ha ha’s |
| RougeBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Dec 2, 20080 Comments | i’ve stood the teeter-totter heights the abscesses bloom poppy skirts, the bloody motor is beat (beat and brittle) my leg is a chipped peg, a lain log with a creaking tap to silence innocence immune to banana gas, my dullness is electrifying an empty bowl full of pits, the whores... |
| My New FriendBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Dec 2, 20081 Comment | you say you are ill me, a mirror of your every flaw (VICIOUSNESS) my hand a cat claw (HISS-HISS) my height, expensive and unbreakable jumpy as a mexican-bean, frogs for licks, i can taste your tricks you are a fever, hallucinations and backflips a slow surrender to the divine... |
| MurphyBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Dec 2, 20080 Comments | diamond eyes cocaine confessions she knows tragic truth bunny-ear flop for fingers casual jitters a catatonic bop, a worn-out epileptic rejecting her secret combinations of medication eight lives dipped in powder one death: the invisible obstacle eelapse, the b r o... |
| InvitationBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Dec 2, 20081 Comment | what i am about to pen will never be performed as words echoing in an ear from out my mouth never there are no loose screws with solid ink (voices are deceiving and in my case, occasionally delusions) i am always when writing, masked, suited, disguised, and naturally we all... |
| AutomaticBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Dec 2, 20081 Comment | steel plated carpet: snugglin’ the fools (for utensils) lost in bubblewrap curl-top babies spit & giggle for the endlessness of cold never rusted (you) sit on the (energized) rocking chair with techs-fresh nutrients and microwaved eggs-scrambled giddy-memories delicately captured are... |
| (Red Death) Blotter AcidBy » soberVISIONS on Tue Dec 2, 20080 Comments | she painted the room red with her paranoiac fever ranting with knives & safety pins “almighty no-body! mark your position you sac-less (un)preachable!” (her illness had no eternal cure) the plan had burnt past popcorn eyes & giddy buckteeth i planted two plastic trees, told... |
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