bobdylan5

Another new poem. I promise, I will get back to the novel sometime soon:


Miles in Paris
by Michael S. Walker

Miles came back from Paris
A changed man
Because over there
They treated him like a man
Even more than an artist
What the hell did it matter
To the golden bell of the sun
The color of any woman he kissed
If he...
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Here's a new one. I think it arose from my recent work frustration. I never actually had this job, but I knew a lot of people who did.


Basket Factory
By Michael S. Walker

At night
I dream of that basket factory
Of the swarms of Korean women
Doing lucrative piecework
Wearing diapers
So they would never have to leave
Their baskets
(Maybe piss ten...
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Well, as some of you may know, I was working as a bakery clerk in a Vons' Grocery. That lasted about five days. Worst.Job.Ever. They wouldn't even let you have a cup of coffee at discount. And you had to join the union, and still I was only making 7.50 an hour. So I quit on Thursday. I've got some prospects lined up for technical...
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And yet, another new poem.


Remember
That pear mash
Under the tree
The yellowjackets
Mad to couple with it
Their slim and tapered abdomens
Stinging at the sweetness
Silent as grave robbers
You paused
Raking the last autumn leaves
To watch them imbibe darkness
The darkness behind you
Gathering
As silent as
This

copyright 2005 by Michael Walker

Here's a new poem I wrote for a girl I like who just got dumped (again.) I don't know if we will ever get together--she lives quite a ways away from me...


For Kim
By Michael S. Walker

What do you want from me
Lows the Mad Cow
Bumping out of people
Who want only to milk her
And cut her
Stick her into spaces...
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Well, for those of you keeping score, here is the next installment of my novel:


To the cottage of the Honorable Bede, Lee finished.
What did you say? Coldwell said, furrowing his brow.
What did he say? Arthur said, looking at his partner.
The Honorable Bede, Lee said, as if he were trying to explain quantum mechanics to idiot children. We need directions to his...
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This is a poem I wrote when I was living in Washington. I'm posting this for its_weaselle who threatened to whip me if I didn't post a poem.


Ten Year Old Child at the American History Museum
By Michael S. Walker

The culture of money
That was the story.
Surrounded by acolytes
And the kids brainwashed eyes kept drifting
From the ravaged threads of Old...
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Here's the next installment of my novel. Probably the only place you are ever going to see it:

But why are we here? Lee said.
They were standing in front of the train station now. It was a massive structure that seemed to be composed of a single piece of obsidian glass.
Yeahthe city people was big big builders. Thats why this place is called...
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"Where there is no vision, the people perish...The mystics are channels through which a little knowledge of reality filters down into our human universe of ignorance and illusion. A totally unmystical world would be a world totally blind and insane. " Aldous Huxley Grey Eminence

And yet another SB set! I've really got to stop this and get back to writing. I'm definitely not a model.
BobDylan5-Dolls