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Poetry

	Anthony DiMichele
	PROFILE About me Friends (13) Poetry (54) Photography (92) Graphics (133)

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Anthony DiMichele, 3 october 2013

sex and war

what sex and war have in common
besides beginning with blind passion
is their resultant carnage in the aftermath
of their engagement
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 3 october 2013

war

war is not a word
full of ambiguities
it is full to overflowing
yes
fuck
love
too
but unlike them
war is always full of the same quarry
of insanity
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 3 october 2013

reality

Reality
a dumpster word
if ever there was one
too full of everything
to mean anything
in particular
it is something for dumpster
divers
to contend with
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 8 august 2013

everything is humdrum how we like it
nothing going on here
in the cosmic drama
the trees surround the house and beg
for permission to believe in our enterprize
the remains of other characters on the barbeque
are being smothered in smoke
you will miss the point of my life
missionless decency
unfolding inside a spectator sport
make a place for yourself
among the anonymous multitude
it is said
you can part them like wheat

number of comments: 1 | rating: 1 | detail

Anthony DiMichele, 28 march 2013

After Midnight

there was captain slave
and the book
and also the inner clothes I dress up in night after night
the revolutionaries’ worn out flames
the next time we will not take you by force
our aspirations are to be advertised on movie posters
I shake hands with a swordfish in a blue suit
the blood hums in his gunpowder
all of us are burning
for a catharsis
when you are gone even for an
evening
deep down I am miles into a dare
*
where do you undress
your voice?
who is really naked naked or not?
in vain your tough structure bends
an immense utterance into a whisper
but the electronic walls spy on you
black and bitter from eternity
our wine bites its pulp
above the scars the riddles are unwritten
claws sink into memory
the broken clouds appear to be breaking up
and I owe you
a long book
*
between each infinite maybe I made my way
with being being evaporated drop by drop
do you remember shouting at the earth?
and then the vanquished dawn without birds?
through turquoise and crimson clouds rain fell
soaking our stockings of ashes sunken in traffic
my nails would be delightfully undone
by a solitary arrow on a one way street
I am dressing myself with cold gravestones
in the emptiness of another picnic with all expenses paid
the overture is written on a yellow postage stamp
it doesn’t make sense because it doesn’t
motionless celestial flight
*
the overture however might go on forever
said a heart wildly alone
with a thick tongue of solitary kisses
lightningbolts exploding on my lips
slapping stars in palm trees
with the hair of water
and my semen scattered in constellations
oh! the axe was a torch though I held the light like a weapon above my head!
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 26 march 2013

urban solitude

I am under a light
everything I want is a cheap fake!
drugs sex power money miracles…
there’s a line for you…
keeping an eye on that thousand foot smoke stack in the sky…
all ahead went fuzzy…
behind it was dark as ever…
bent down doubled over in a struggle
for animal warmth…
hard roads make of our royal labors… labor…
be humble
or revel in a future that looks
token green
over the irises
the garden still delivers
like threads…

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Anthony DiMichele, 26 march 2013

Hermann Hesse

since the first time when the light was a promise
fulfilled
the air clearer my eyes keener
the books ladders to climb
I loved walking through the alps
in your imagination
never stumbling
because happiness was everywhere
and you could breathe
without noise in your ears
the simplest wash of cerulean blue
in a broad band across the top
of a paper rectangle
was saturated with its own magic
someone always got away
from the storms of love and poverty
plague and wild flowers
before the game got complicated
or was it all in the mind afterall?
it didn't matter what side your voice was on
the wheel covered us all
every time I am split down the middle
and stand between myself and myself
I remember the smell of autumn leaves
smoking behind the fence rising below
pale stars it was marvelous and ancient
you couldn't ignore it
which made me feel like company
the monsters were always ordinary in hats
monsters who were not monsters
afterall perhaps
since the first solitude
since the first door opened into wonder
and isolation
I only blush alone
I open you again to remember
the days that were already memories
with no futures
and happiness in simplicity that was always
oddly naive
*

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Anthony DiMichele, 24 march 2013

perfectly

This morning I woke up in my coffin
I was on the wrong side of my neck
to be precise I was before and after
myself
with a message that dreamed me
caught forever in my mouth
I hope I get to you in this promise
but I was already on the wrong side
of my pain
in the neck like a medal I wore backwards
intentionally
between stars this morning
I wore hope around my neck in a noose
that I knew was meant for someone else
but I woke up hopelessly
and it fit me perfectly

number of comments: 1 | rating: 2 | detail

Anthony DiMichele, 24 march 2013

lust

my frozen lust left an empty puddle here
fantasies
filled with lovely fillings
while nihilism leaks out of hollywood buddhism
buttery old fashioned
shamefully naked
nothing
living in underwear
a purgatory for vainglorious poultry
who are finished with thanksgiving

number of comments: 2 | rating: 1 | detail

Anthony DiMichele, 23 march 2013

weightless

the anxiety slashed me it curled me into a fetus of fear
the fear cancered me
for years and then it killed me
many times
I am with you not of you
my pain is weightless
my thoughts a narrative of escapism
suicidal dance in the shadow of our rubbish
everything goes in the frenzy and the trance
the song and dance
of eatting corpse
I don’t know how or why
but I fly downstream to the sea
automatically
and I don’t stop there
I can hear you speak
to your self silently
as you read
I think this is eternity
I don’t want to die

number of comments: 1 | rating: 1 | detail

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Latest items:

Poetry

sex and war

war

reality

humdrum

After Midnight

urban solitude

Hermann Hesse

perfectly

lust

weightless

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