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by blbest

that buried between
the bones of my body
are rockets aimed
at the sun,

that this sun can
never harm me
when I am this big,
when I am billions

of light years tall
and my wings bigger yet,
that there are moons

orbiting the space
between my arms,
and how could I forget

that this is devastating
too, that I kissed her
before I knew what

I was capable of.


I was gonna write up a description for this video, but I, uh, promised my folks I'd watch their dog, so, uh, I gotta go do that, here's a video....sorry.

by blbest
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Hello, uhh, how are you?

Good. You?

Not bad. You, uhh, sound nice.

Thanks, you too.

I would imagine you look nice as well, probably

New blouse, I like it.

This is just a little weird, right? A bit?

How so…?

I mean, it’s a weird blind date, right?

I don’t follow…

Usually, a blind date means not having seen the person you’re meeting until you actually go on a date with them, but we’re here now, in this beautiful restaurant and I still have no idea what you look like.

I go on dates like this all the time, seems pretty normal.

Huh, really? Seriously?


It’s just, we’re sitting at two separate tables, back to back, talking over our shoulders, kinda weird you know?

I think you’re just nervous, you sound nervous.

Confused, mostly.

Love at first listen, it's the only way to fall for someone.

You think so?


You've had real relationships based solely on the sound of someone's voice.


Of course.  I dated The Wolfman for a couple years.  I'd call every Thursday night and he’d play any song I asked for, no matter what. He was so sweet.

The KMAC 94.7 DJ?


He's a DJ for the most popular radio station in the city, he just took your requests.

I don't know what you're trying to say.

You seriously thought you were dating someone named "The Wolfman."  Good god.....Nevermind.  Have you ever actually dated before?

After The Wolfman there was Eric.  He was so generous and caring, said he’d take care of any problem I could ever possibly have, floods, hail damage, burglary.

Your insurance agent?

No, Eric.

Christ. Any more of these romances in your past?

Well, there was Sarah, but the two of us never seemed to head in the same direction.

Because she told you to turn left in 500ft when you wanted to turn right?

How do you know Sarah!

She lead me to this restaurant.

Oh, she’ll lead you on, she always did. That’s Sarah all right.

A GPS! I’m leaving, this is absurd.  Sarah will take me home now.

Good luck with that hussy!

by blbest
806 Hits
31 Recommends

We snuck our first drink when mother wasn’t
watching, her cup half empty, cold and unattended.
That inaugural sip made us shudder, filled our mouths
with soot and soil soaked pisswater.
We thought our tongues were dead leaves.
We kept our distance from it for a few more years after that.

We got older and eased into it, warmed our bellies
with sugary brews that sounded like cupcakes and rodeos,
caramel apple chai and tall skinny half-cafs with a whip.
We gave street names to the strong stuff, like java and perk,
we knew it every language.

When we reached adulthood, we couldn’t kick it,
drinkers because our parents could never rise without it.
Because we didn’t know how to make dates casual
without coffee shops in college towns. Because the warm river
smoke of a dark roast unsweetened reminded us of the woodstove
musk that clung to the collars of our grandfathers’ jackets.

Eventually, we build a collection. There is a place in our
cupboards for all of this, the mugs. Just below the plates and
above stacked bowls. There are those that match the dinner
set for post-cake coffee and cups for the morning commute.

Most importantly, there is a place for the kitschy mug, the one
still depicting the youth we’ve yet to outgrow entirely, trimmed
for Christmas or adorned by hand painted sea otters.
Saturday morning’s wake up early for no good reason coffee.
The drink that reaches your toes.

by blbest
443 Hits
14 Recommends

I was taught that a man’s worth is measured by the strength of his handshake. My uncle made the biggest men wince with every introduction and greeting. His hands were hard, forged by years of dirt and dust only acquired through long hours of work without enough breaks to catch his breath. He wasn’t large in stature, but his limbs were thick and muscular, his eyes small, but bright and blue. He never had much to say, but always plenty to do.

As a boy, I spent afternoons in the summer working beside him. I swore I saw him grow stronger the higher the sun rose above us. He built fences, sturdy and straight, never slowing his pace. When I would sit on the truck bed to rest my legs, he’d wipe beads of sweat from his forehead and work twice as hard. I watched him drive the posts into the ground, his arms firm and tense. He never seemed to tire. A working man wasn’t supposed to.

When he wasn’t toiling in the fields, he assisted anywhere he could. Trimming trees, rebuilding car engines, hauling firewood in winter, anything he could do to keep busy. He built a barn alongside my father next to our house. He was meticulous and orderly. Every nail was hit evenly, each edge sanded perfectly. When a 2x4 leaning against one of the new walls fell on his thumb, he didn’t curse, he pushed the board aside and kept hammering.

Years later, after I’d reached adulthood, my father called, asking me to check on the farm and my uncle. The family had growing concerns about his health. The fence surrounding the pasture was still in place, but the posts were splintered and worn. A few were starting to split down the sides. When I reached the house, the porch creaked beneath me. Planks supporting it were rotting through. I knocked on the door twice, shaking dust loose from the frame above. There was no answer. I walked behind the house, taking notice of the sunken roof of an old tool shed next to his garage. I saw him a hundred yards or more beyond it in the garden, tilling by

hand with a shovel. His back was hunched over, and he walked with a limp. The skin on his arms looked thinner, covered in sunspots. I thought of interrupting him, to bring him inside, but I knew better. I grabbed a spade from the shed and helped him complete the last half.

“I have a tiller you could borrow,” I offered.

“No need,” he responded. His eyes still focused on the ground in front of him. The more force he applied to the hard earth beneath him, the more his legs shook.

“Why don’t you head in and I’ll finish up.”

“M’alright, I can handle it,” he said.

He dug the shovel into the ground again, this time collapsing with the push. The rust covering the blade had finally separated the piece from the wood handle. I pulled him slowly back onto his feet. With a hand around his waist, I guided him into the house and seated him at the kitchen table. He looked smaller and fragile, defeated. I made a pot of coffee and looked at the farm out the window. The grass was uncut and a Ford pickup sat in the yard. He told me it’d stopped running a couple weeks ago, but parts were no longer made for it. Everything about the farm was archaic and forgotten by much of the outside world. He’d replace the vehicle had he not been convinced they didn’t make ‘em like they used to, the way he felt about most things. His ideals were rooted in an authenticity seldom realized anymore. There isn’t much room for a working man these days. Time moves much too quickly.

Sitting opposite him in the kitchen, I’d become more conscious of his aging, something once inconceivable to me as a child. He held a coffee mug in his right hand, massaging his knee with the left. The wrinkles in his face webbed around his eyes, pulling the skin downward, shaping a man greatly weathered. My mother and father had invited him to live with them in the spare bedroom, but he’d declined. He wouldn’t leave the home he’d made, its structure

weakening the same as his own body. Each was the relic of a simple practicality. A sincerity embodied best by men of few words, men with no intention of ever being anybody’s burden.

I put the tools away after tilling the rest of the garden. He insisted I wait for his help, but his knee prevented it. He kept careful watch over my work from a lawn chair in the backyard, not speaking. I dug like he once had, quickly, and purposefully. The way he still strived to, not stopping until I received his nod of approval. I placed the tools back in the shed, feeling the dirt dry hard into my palms.

I shook his hand before leaving him, grimacing slightly through the pain.

by blbest
842 Hits
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We wake the neighbors
just cracking our knuckles
in the morning, splitting
redwoods through the thick
of their trunks with the echo.

Nothing stands
as tall as our big

We name ourselves
after thunderheads
and four letter words
only the sky’s heard.

Nobody tells
us we’re not young

Some nights we play
dead and laugh
at the unlikelihood.

by blbest
625 Hits
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Get over here, fella.
Let’s chat a minute, huh?
First of the month,
empty those pockets
for me, Mr. College Grad,
Mr. Nothin’ To Show
For None of It,
Mr. Dollar Menu.

Don’t you ball your fists,

when you talk to me.
That English degree you got
don’t step that hard.
The Bard never boxed,
bud, and neither do you.

Play it cool now or we got trouble.
You hear me? I run a business here.
You piss me off we add a little
interest cross your cheekbone.
Get you pickin’ sofa cushions
like scabs for spare change, huh?

I ain’t happy with you. People talk.

I’ve heard the shit you say about me.
All your piss and moan. We ain’t good.

So your brother can’t afford
tires cause I came calling, huh?

And your mom and pop
struggle with the groceries

cause they came to me
when four semesters
wasn’t enough for you.
That makes me some monster,
some bad guy, that right?

Now you work in warehouses
and cubicles, and they ain't publishing houses,
you never wrote no American classic,

and this is all cause you got bills.
Cause you owe me.
That’s what you say.

The burden of privilege
is heavy, ain’t it, pal?
Opportunity so hard to accept
when somebody gives you a shot
at something. Sound right?

I know you still write.
I ask about you.
I follow my investments, see.
I remember the shy kid

too uncomfortable
with his own imagination.
to let it run. I remember
the classrooms that unleashed it
cause you met me, how you learned
to grow without apologizing for it.

I remember your parents’
on the day of your graduation,
your grandma, too,
the grins they gave the camera.
The whole mess of it, know?

And I was proud.
Proud of this stuck up, punk
that never thought to thank me.

Not everybody gets this,
the debt, this trust, the chance.

Earn what you owe me.

And if you got nothin'
on the shelf when you leave here tonight,
remember how this hungry feels.
Now give me that watch too,
cause you don’t have any more time
to waste.

You welcome.

by blbest
642 Hits
26 Recommends

Verse 1

she eyes me over
and I’m half past sober,
little devil’s in the glass,
angel tumbled off my shoulder, but
she’s pretty though,
lights the bar up like the carnival,
served another drink
and I’m down for the whole show,
the chick’s a stunner, man,
the bar starts to turn again,
last night this same trick found me on the floor, damn
but cutie winks,
when she passes me that stiff drink,
I see her grin, and I’m waitin’ for the spin to begin

Verse 2

We’re two drinks later,
And I’m swearin’ that I love her,
little heart beatin’ fast
when I’m leanin in to kiss her, but
she ain’t watchin’
all the lights got her lost and
I just hope she tilt and whirl
herself up into my arms then,
we both spun out
she all my dizzy know now,
her sexy all my gravity,
the bar starts to dance with me,
then everything goes blurry,
I see her girn, then she hands me a bottle of gin.

Verse 3

the next morning,
all I hear’s my head ringing,
lights off, no drinks,
not a single girl dancin’, but
a little note tucked
inside my shirt pocket,
sealed shut, face up,
a little red kiss on it, says
sorry, baby, but your carnival is
over, call me soon maybe
when you’re not half sober?

by blbest
622 Hits
16 Recommends

Sun feel so good in the pocket,
man, little god plant the creek bed
arrowhead good, all the muddy
thick in the nails good.

Tell mama breakfast don’t end,
tell sister it’s year of the summer dress,
tell papa he don’t need to sweat
for the sun no more.

Tell’em that light shapes itself
pretty as we want now.

by blbest
340 Hits
16 Recommends

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by blbest
330 Hits
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You quoted Kerouac like gospel.
Didn’t stayed in the same city more than a year.
I can never remember which of your name’s
I forget more, the last or middle.

You never told your mother who I was.
Your father liked golf more than I could pretend to.
I only kissed you as hard as I wanted you to kiss me. 

A day after my first night with you,
I told my mother I was moving here. 
That I could pack all I needed in my car.
You stopped calling before that.

I punched knuckles with my walls.
I was so much younger than my body.
I was as lonely as I wanted to stop acting.
You were a girl still lost and glad to be,
how I wish I lived that way.
How I wanted to love myself
as hard as you wanted me to.

I hope you love somebody
now as much as I’ve learned to love
how beautiful I became because you left.

by blbest
1214 Hits
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by blbest
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Another take on lexuhroo's classy gentleman!

by blbest
408 Hits
22 Recommends