Define: Horrific

The Animals or something playing on the vinyl in the corner, some cannabis burning in the corner, some junkies strung out on the balcony, I'm on heroin; and I'm falling down to the street curb. It is 1969, and there is nothing better to do but die or get stoned.

Well, there is a house in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun

And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy

And God I know I'm one

We all fall down in fear.

Shoulders

The smells of flowers on the wind tickle my nose,

Flowing in sweet harmony alongside the warm scent,

Of a spring rain; ah, it is that afternoon time to think:

The rain at my windows, a french kiss of air and earth

"I would advise Atlas to shrug..." to lift his burden.

The tantalizing milky white shoulders,

rising and falling with with each pensive and ecstatic breath,

playing host to the beautifully cascading waterfall of blonde,

lilac smelling hair, which drapes around modestly pale breasts;

My thoughts wander, as if through a lush and full garden,

smelling the flowers and tasting the heavy, humid life in the air,

towards the shape of these pure, naked shoulders:

with a collarbone as defined as the web of branches holding up a canopy

busy as it protects the ground from the sun's severity,

selflessly defending the fertility of this precious body,

These shoulders must be sore, tired from carrying such weight:

the slow and tireless drag of time, the constant tug of age on her brow,
the modest signs of struggle that will surely appear years later,
the heavy heart, strong from bearing so much fruit for so long,

yet;

these shoulders are gorgeous, unscathed from the labors of love,
the tell-tall marks of emotion show no face here,
just,
elegance.

shrug,

here I lie, kissing slowly the small of your back,
I still have my gaze affixed upon your shoulders,
as we explore our bodies in unaware of anything else; I
melt as I catch a smile coming from behind the golden drapes
of your playful curly hair, and I am struck,
frozen and knowing with overwhelming confidence,
that your shoulders bear no weight:

atlas would weep; for carrying all that love,
but you, you hold on your shoulders with pleasure;

for the weight of beauty, not unlike that of entire worlds,
are as small and precious as what we see in each others eyes.

[one word] infect

INFECT APRIL 17, 2009

infect? what? like zombies and shit... infected with the poison of passion dripping sweet off her lips, i realize these are the last lips i'll kiss; this fact i do not fear, i would rather no other lips, then the addictive and moisture found upon yours; so let me feed my addiction, and one last kiss, i crave. [tony DeGenaro]

[one word] passport

PASSPORT APRIL 16, 2009

i double checked everything: my coat, wallet, luggage, down to the extra pair of boxers, i was prepared for anything. Then I got to the airport and realized I'd lost my passport at home. Devastated, I had just ruined my European getaway. Then I turned and realized you were here, at home, and that Europe wasn't where I needed to be... [tony DeGenaro]

Define: Perfect ii

I decided that in my less serious more lyrical critical analysis of different and experimental poetry, a project I'm "raising from the dead," so to speak, called: Little Poems, is going to include in it's text, will have a series of definitions.

This one I like a great deal, and look forward to compiling them all, the first two have been sampled on the blog....

"Not the pen, not the page, but the space in between."

Define: Perfect

perfect is when we have the ability to alter our existence, but choose not too. this is as close to "perfect" our human fabrics can muster.

and it is indeed, perfect.

Photobooth

another bulb exploded:

flash, dust,

and another moment was stolen,

grabbed from time's slow and persistent clutches.

and printed on inked and truthful pages,

smiles full of hopeful contentedness;

another couple leaves the photobooth.

where forever their love remains:

flash, dust.

immortal and perfect.

[one word]

KNOCK APRIL 14, 2009 [124]

there was a deafening silence; the door was being pounded down. someone, something, was trying desperately to get in. to be let inside; to have the doors opened to it. in silence, with the exception of a Poe like haunting of knocking, i waited for the stranger to vacate, but the noise persisted. to it, i opened the doors at last; and love poured in.

Non-Secular Easter and [one word]

Today marks both the rising of Christ from the dead (in Christian tradition) and the rejuvenation of my faith, it would seem. Expect some samples of another new project: Psalms.

Happy Non-Secular Easter.

-Tony

SHADE APRIL 11, 2009

quiet, quickly breathing as my glass of tequila sweats out the alcohol and is cool to the touch while I sit, in the SHADE, whispering while the sunlight whisks the grey hairs on the women walking by; i am growing old, but this is not yet my scene. and in my prime, i will enjoy the sunlight still. [tony DeGenaro]

Opened Doors and [one word]

Death Cab for Cutie has been one of my favorite bands for quite some time now; their music style frequently being more then enough (providing) for what I had needed to listen too. However, a band deserves notoriety when each time a different song comes on, listeners experience this. Death Cab's newest release, "The Open Door EP," a five song collection of b-sides from Narrow Staris, the songs sound more like "Plans" Death Cab, a revival that perhaps will redeem fans turned away from Stairs' dramatic shift in sound...

I love all Ben Gibbard's work, so I was quite refreshed in breaking in my new debit card on these cuts, and recommend them to all! Pick it up, five songs and a music video for five bucks in iTunes? Can't beat that! And it's Death Cab no less, really can't beat that.

PROVIDE APRIL 7, 2009

Every time I see you smile warmly, I know I've done right by you; I've PROVIDED. It's precious to me, to feel like I'm good enough, to feel loved and to know that you've been feeling loved too. PROVIDING is important. It's enchanting to know you can give someone what they need. And darling, I have lot's to give. Everything, in fact, for you.

Update on "the loud and unfathomable Silence"

I've been working a lot on compilation, flow, and also new material for the hopeful May release of my newest collection: "the loud and unfathomable Silence." Hopefully, you are all as excited for it as I am!

To rustle up some suspicion, a teaser of sorts:

one reoccurring theme (poems) in the book will be the idea of phantoms, both good and bad, and embodies the long and enduring work "Phantoms, i-x." These will be placed throughout to help navigate the ideas of what is collected in the book.

The first entry, "i," which I posted only moments ago, will be followed by the first portion: a group of poetry dealing with silence and loneliness and optimism.

I'm very excited to continue working on this project, as it's been taking quite a lot out of me, I again, hope you're all very excited too!

Comment on entries, even if you're not a blogger.

-Cheers*

Tony

Phantoms, i

i

unnatural chills sweep through the hand-holding interlace

of my window screen;

this cold, in april? eliot spoke of april's cruelties,

but to rob la printemps of her chaleur, to use his terms;

his language,

to rob the spring of her warmth?

not so much as to leave me alone in the cold, smothered under

blanket after blanket after blanket,

and still the chill kisses the tips of my toes;

there is the dark outline of an arm,

death himself reaching his chill to my bedside?

alas, it is just a coat of some girl's,

discarded for la printemps et ta chaleur,

unable to accept this kind of chill in april.

suddenly, an overwhelming wave of it brushes the blankets to below my waist;

no! i am not holding hands with a ghost, a demon,

a phantom of sorts,

hand in hand, you carry me through the night,

and i feel it, yours and la printemps chaleur,

i find warmth in the hands of empty sleeves,

that tomorrow perhaps,

i will in fact be holding the hands,

chaleur and alive,

the hands of yours.

Banana Cheesecake

Lick the frosting off my nose, let me tell you a story:

There's a magic in the baseball field,

where we tangle and dance,

where our curves yield,

underneath cloudy skied romance.

Your smile and my cheeky grin,

Blissfully warm and kind,

Like a soft slug of gin,

Or fresh mellon, wet to the rind;

each bite is sensual, fantastic,

like banana cheesecake we share in the fields.

On Sick and Sadness

this is reflective writing, much less poetic, so to speak...

as the cold wind blows in through spring's fresh newborn air, I wonder why snow is piling up outside the like mountain of blankets covering me, as I shiver even in a sweater and linen pants. there is a glass of orange juice and water both at the side of my bed, alongside well read texts and a few different remotes for the less intellectual pleasures on my bedridden behalf.

I've finished a few good poems and an entire book (Blankets, by Craig Thompson, check it out today and finish it later...you'll understand) and I still feel like nothing's been accomplished today. It's the sedintary feeling that gets me blue; I cannot stand just lying/sitting/coughing here without moving. I mean, I throw words like beatnik and bohemian around quite often, but jesus, who'dof thunkit that even I couldn't handle a day of rest?

at any rate, it was a much needed rest, I feel 100% again today, and am looking forward to exploring winter's visiting ghost around Westerville. Or just sleeping more.

All I'll say is being sick isn't so awful with plenty of love to go around from my darling dear.
Thank you Krista, your support was overwhelming yesterday.


-Tony


PS, faithful readers, all none of you; spring break work coming soon, probs this weekend.

one word . com-SQUARE

SQUARE APRIL 6, 2009

squares are the in kids, the scenesters and the hip kids off in the corners don't feel completely excluded, they are down with the dance we do too. it's the kids in the middle that are missing out, the bro's and bra's and kids too god damned cool to fit in to the off beat bonanza! We do our dances in complete quiet, in the middle of mayhem, looking like a riot. it's just fun.

One Word . Com

My new practice. [oneword.com]

I'll be updating these every day. One Word is an online community of writers and creative thinkers. The context of the website is simple: every day there is a word, and visitors are encouraged to write whatever comes to mind after reading and studying the build of the world (today's was "Blackout.") and to for sixty seconds, write anything.

This project makes for a fantastic little exercise and reflection.

BLACKOUT:

the storm. februrary, it was raining and i came up to your room with the lights out. blackout. that was one of our first kisses. our best kisses.

What Comes Through My Window

as the wind whispers through
open windows,
she tells me stories of where she's been by:
sailing through the pine needles on an evergreen,
making the flag pole clatter,
rustling the grass,
tussling hair and grazing pink cheeks,
in and out of open doors and hearts.
as i listen to this myth of spingtime,
i wish i was as free as the wind:

open to boundless travel,
endless romances as she flies by
so many different people and places.

her stories are fantastic and comforting,
like any well-weathered spring morning.

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