Beauty

10.13.08

“I want to produce beauty,”
you told me.
But you can’t escape
the past easily.
Can’t untangle your scenery,
from roads and tragedy,
tracks and machinery.

borderless   being
being          bored

duty free high-
stakes basted by
black-market censors eyes
whose scents sense we don’t belong
by the fluorescent thighs
not gone
before shadows cast the night
on ghostly salesgirls, who graft
checks from glossy wrecks
imaginary hex
halo over your heads
credit card sex
chain around yer necks
lines between the text
read an ex- life
stitch tales of culture
with pins and needles of an ex-wife
leather clad vultures
roots as deep as strawberry runners
run viral through cold shudders
thin soils and fallow udders

Two Cups

Red and black
Half moons
Grainy stains
The bottoms
Of cups
Next to
My fingers
Day and
Night and
One smells
Olive oil
The other
Bitter coffee

Sidewalks
Eric Blasco 8.29.08

Sidewalks are tracks
to places with stacks
and stacks and racks and racks
all sewn off  kids’ backs
and backs rack the slacks
soon slackers stack
and trackers track stacks hacked out
by slimy hacks who lack
and truckers pack and ship
stacked ships with shipping slips
and firecrackers crack whips, cracked out
smack grips on sore backs
and hacks sack guys packing racks
so more trains can tax the tracks
and ships slip along the ocean’s back
so hip hips can patch rips
and kiss lips behind racks
It’s enough to make ya yack
and that’s the facts.

Some days I know well
You wanted to be rich
And beautiful
Wanted to sell out
But got nothing to sell
Wanted to buy in
But you ain’t got the smell

Unoriginal

You’re a good book
That lured me in
With a sexy cover:
Unoriginal Sin

It’s hard not to see
your tricks of the trade
But those eyes kiss
with the love we made
At a moments notice
you could have stayed
To slide apart
Slippery hearts
as sweat glistens
You talk with your body
but your head don’t listen.

Do you feel
dreams unraveled
lemon peels
taste bitter that
steals my breath away
can I have it back
Someday?
Don’t need you for a heart attack,
OK

Ocean in a Bottle
Eric Blasco

Creeping up my spine
starfish sized shutters wind
through a thick-skinned shirt
a thousand fibers worn tight
you dance and flirt
but I fight
to keep these winds
from catching me
just right
sending me twitching
back to another night,
when a red stream burst
into flames
leaves of grass
whispered my name
goose bumps
pushed away pain.

My hand reached
sea to shining sea,
You’re back again!
to wake me–
from a thousand deep
thoughts beneath
a brain’s coral reef
invisible fish
turn dark, light up,
and blow out your wish
it’s easier to think about life like this.

Split Skies

Eric Blasco

Beast with many heads
but no heart
hard to see where
it stops and starts
the fate of dirt road rocks
roll between worlds to block
the Stars, city scrapers make
their own galaxies above
can’t escape pain and love

Rustling constellations
run through
cornfield space-stations
from the grocery bag gods
Who try
to blow the wind
and split the sky
but won’t tell why
the world’s as small as your feet
and as big as your eyes.

The Cotton Mouth
Eric Blasco

5000 year to build ‘em up
50 to watch ‘em tumble
Cotton mouth contrails
in the rubble
of lost cities,
and new trouble.

Bumble bee jets drop
burning brand cigarettes
See the smoke settle
in the hot sand kettles
Twisted knots like pretzels
at the distance of TV sets.

Not you average ravaging
destruction
Savage vultures grow fatter
from failed reconstruction
Stuff bellies with
the grease of the dead
Growing meaner and meaner
in the head
As numbers, blunders,
figures spread
From the Mid-East-West-North
and South
Trace the contrails
of the cottonmouth
It writes PEACE
in the sands of time
Couldn’t be seen about
Through the refined
party line
It’s party time
Pop the cork,
hear the crunched bones
of human reduction
Snap crackle, pop-culture-
luncheon
Snicker, violent seduction
lights camera Action!
get ready for pre-emptive
pre-production.
100% guaranteed Satisfaction.

Where
Eric Blasco

I was looking at the screen
to follow other lives around.
I was stumbling to find my way out of town,
thinking I left,
when I was lying on the ground.

It was the same spot
where I wrote you this goodbye
in between subway stops.
Where ticks on clocks
make time rot.
Where the tree lies
down, when the sun sets
in the moon’s eyes
dusk dries
up the day’s old
bread grows mold.
 
So I broke a dollar in two
to buy some luck.
I scraped loose change together,
where 80 cents buys a buck.