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JUNE 24th @ Port 41
355 W 41ST St Between Ave 8&9.
7:30 PM
ft. Anis Mojgani
MEGAN FALLEY [ON ICE!]: WHAT THE HOUR HAND SAID TO THE MINUTE HAND
At 7:35 A.M, you lay your tired body on mine
before peeling off, like a slow band-aid.
At 8:40 you sprint home and make instant coffee.
At 9:45 we finally drink it, cold.
I finish your leftover half.
By 10:50 you are already breathless.
I live for every time we overlap.
When 11:55 comes I spend the entire minute convincing you to stay.
You never do.
By noon I put my hands on your shoulders and say, “Baby,
you’re getting thin. All this running in circles and barely sitting down to eat.”
At 1:05 you tell me that while you were gone,
15,300 babies were born.
At 2:10 you don’t say a word,
just come in and kiss me for sixty seconds straight.
At 3:15 we sit quiet, listening to rain falling everywhere
in the world at once: all 15,000 tons.
At 4:20 we pull a little from the tight joint I keep behind your ear.
You do not inhale.
At 5:25 you meet me for happy hour.
My neck already salted, a lime wedged in my teeth,
a shot of tequila sitting on the bar.
At 6:30 I hear the ticking.
I count your heartbeat like seconds between thunderclaps.
By 7:35 I can see you in the distance,
each second a tease until you drape over me.
We always love quick and you never let me hold you.
I dream of drinking you through a straw.
At 8:40 you watch my beard grow 0.00027 of an inch.
At 9:45 we do not speak.
Too many people have died since we last met.
At 10:50 we pray for a meteor,
at least a clumsy kid to spill sugar in our gears.
11:55 is my favorite.
We’re only apart for mere minutes.
But at midnight you’ll apologize sixty times
because it will always be like this.
At 1:04 AM I am already sleeping.
It’s exhausting loving someone
who is constantly running away.
Megan Falley
Member of the Intangible Collective
& Write Bloody Finalist.
you are cordially invited to:
nuyorican quarter-finals
friday, january 8, 2010
nuyorican poet’s cafe
(236 East 3rd St btw Ave B&C)
at 9pm.the girl above will be slamming.
(the girl above is me.)
be there or be wack.
www.intangiblecollective.com
Star Wars Facebook Status
(via collegehumor)
For Omni… here’s more of these.
AHHH this ones even better!
we're published. buy this.
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1j8le_e40-tell-me-when-to-go_music
These boys
whose grandfathers hands
were made of ship splinters
dock men
drawn from a deep seed south
to the edges of the earth for work
metal spines
city eyes
shattered windows
the mystery of
Oak trees Lands
these boys
know nothing of the shipyards
their ancestors built
their ears
have grown accustomed to
the sounds of sirens
coming for them
their grandfathers hands
feel like the asphalt
they have mistaken for home
these shipyards
have turned to dreadlocks
and supermarkets
to liquor stores
Oakland has been tire tread on
look at these beautiful scars
the earth
purges
things like
dance
and spinning cars
and doors opening
letting lose
when the chains are so goddamn tight
these sirens
are like howls
to a full corn moon
werewolf men
grandfathers
shipyard seeds
have grown full
and their cars spin
cross Jack London’s skyline
a purple blaze
in a black sky
the moon is full
look at the dark clouds
I’m in my scrapper
watchin Oakland gone wild
-fritz.
www.intangiblecollective.com
Intangible 28. 2/28
For the remainder of the cycle i am going to write about inanimate objects of importance to me. either from their perspective or otherwise.
1999 Ford Focus (Black)
When your mother lost her job at the radio station
the one she spent four years of her third decade
cutting checks to achieve
her father bought me as a gift
i was economical in the best of times
a convenient back end meant for cradling her banana bread
black because your mother never could keep a car clean
domestic, because despite his impressive portfolio
an import woulve been just too extravagant for her father
When your sister was able to sort out the angles
of the great sixteen year old paralellogram
she inherited my convenience
now i was some converted shoe rack
a black hatchback placeholder between
junior year and a maxima
She called me Ernie
Stupid fucking name
Made me sing Shania
And Shakira
And knowing these women on a first name basis makes me
want to grow opposable thumbs from my tailpipe
if only to stick lit matches in my mouth
When you and your girlfriend returned from college
and her car died from lack of california
they gave me to you both
and when you broke her
like teacups in the shadow of a sledge
she kept me.
nowadays
i have other smells
deodarants you dont wear
stains you didnt leave
but i cast my long memory on your sidestreets
i could be no other black 1999 Ford Focus
THe bumperstickers on the back of my thighs
still bear the prints of your thumbs
if its not too painfull to hear:
there is an empty pack of parliaments beneath the passenger seat
(his name is Franky)
he has never had anythin bad to say about you.
but hes a minority these days
working the back corner for scraps
while another man’s newports
mentholate
everything
Minty-fresh was really never your style.
By Omni, author of Eat The Rich and Slam Poet Extraordinaire.
www.intangiblecollective.com
My penis is on the internet now. Thank you Megan’s dad for asking me if it would be long or short one (Let’s just say I would have gotten a server time penalty). And I’m referring to a poem, you fucking perverts.
