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Your juicy buns Turn my heart into butter, Oh Joyful Child. You make me want your sons, My heart is now aflutter, If only you were single. My mind has all gone wild, Look at those jiggling guns! The camera closes its shutter. My mind thou hast beguiled, My tongue begins to sputter, If you should love. I am now rolling in the gutter, For you have released the dove. With all the lust in the world, Dwight. copyright 2007 jonathan brandt ~ Add to Memories ~ Tell a Friend ~ Reply
no transfats more thanjust delicious individually wrapped naturaland artificial flavors 30%more nosaltadded made with real nonfatmilk sealed for yourprotection 100% real resealable package dirtyminded fda (|@35[3/\/+SPACE|?0|_|_Z ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt
schlipschlopschlip schlopschlipschlopschlip schlopschlipschlopschlipschlop feet in their robes of rubberbacked cotton paddingravitating towards the egespeer over the corner of the bed closeyoureyes jump feel the warmth cover your skin rippling into the oscillating curves with everybreathi get nearer to perfection one ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt bingbangboom rumbletumble metal against metaldrowning in a pool of sound kama sutra metal plastic muddy puddles twinkle with the rain falling onto them,disturbing their placid coolness flashes of white in silver pools institutionality of creamcoloured cement painted with stubble bricksand mistmatched windows ,conduitsand red plastic levers anchors among the endles chaos of noise ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt order to) pierce my thoughts,feelings ,stapler erasing memories the pen is not so mighty yet cones turn to dustcrumbling in the windof repairing cuts rips in flesh tears to be mended weaving the( fabric) that covers our bodies cluing imperfections onto typing paper making marred souvenirs of marred hearts life in the eye of a clown buried under six feet of makeup with a bright red epitaph ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt
meep moop poom peem pooooom dum deem deep doop doop deep llllllama mama? jamabama pajama dilirama diorama oholibama crysanthemum chrysalis narcicisus dour rose who's a dour rose? what's a hum? ur such a bum ...java lava n ur lama's momma diligent pomma to go with the dali lama immigrant schnoodle's miscreant poodle, with a passion for stroodle that was from the instant message diaries, by tim and mishi. ~ jon
pin and hate the imprint it leaves on your fingertipush the black plastic tab with a deftness that comes with years of age turn on the lamp and blink as the lightsgoswirlingpast in a flurry of braces and fortyfivewatt light-bulbs watch them masquerade as dogs swans butteflies twist long ballons throbheatcry place your hand firmly in the fam the trunk the silverware drawer fold your pant-legs and wonder as the world spins upside-down shadow play ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt
covering my thoughts filling them with the smell of motel 8s and exploding pens smoky glo-bowling the man at the park slowly laying down his king of hearts the writer wiping the end of his pen on his tattered jeans the man whose marriage proposal was turned down on new years eve the beachcomber who peels his oranges in a spiral the incense dies as the jukebox plays its last song place the arches of your feet on these rusted metal ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt
I=|_|(l< `<0|_| \/3P\`< /\/\|_|(|-| screw you too. if i was perfect would that make your life better? because of you i run into my room stuffing down tears with a plastic bag in my ammunition against myself just waiting for courage yet it doesn't come lay down in my bed trying to turn life off trying to leave myself alone disconnect die melthrough the tops of your shoes shoelaces un tied runthrough the metal safety door that never succeeded at anything awayfrom hurt awayfrom pain awayfrom ex istence run dontlookoveryourshoulder don't turn back run sink into the concrete holding you down back stop run trip inapothole that has been filled with cement that has chipped and worn in the weather itsnotheonlyone the grass peels felsh off feet toes heels call ouses the treesgroan as they lean stop keep going dont tire leaves fallmake a maze of walls and ceilings and floors always moving cutting throb blood th war ting everybreath saw blades thrown at your face duck i must keep ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt
and see me beckoning come closer feel the warm breath as my tonge and lips shape it to form words sentences burn the letters burn the books feel my voice tuck you into bed with three sofspoken words: i love you for that is all you need feet in a puddle of green plastic binoculars face paint translucent gun only bent on killing and not being killed bullets ripple the air ok, well i guess that's that. not my favourites, by any stretch. ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt
aluminium and copper combining fiddlefiddle scratchscratch brushSMACK! fiddlefiddle scratchscratch brushSMACK! an interlude of humhum whirrwhirr gurglePOP! humhum whirrwhirr gurglePOP! besjé blockadu watch bullet-pierced signs jog down the street wave good morning caught in the paddle wheel dash into the cement bubbling and thrashing shake dried dirt off the book pages tie the leatherbound cover closed and give it with a bow i look at my floor covered in a veneer of electricaltape magazines socks oldschoolids and i think of you how you droppedfrom the sky looking into my eyes, saying come with me i'll be your elephant you can climbinto the clouds and drop pieces of them onto me and i will look up smile and catch birds in my mouth shriek slam bubbles youwill hang upside down on the raingutter while i rock backandforth on the windowsill wave from afar with candystained mouths and splintered hands bow as the velvet unfurls its crayoncovered tableau in cornflower and ticklemepink burn the edges and tie it to a balloon watch it ascend the wooden steps turn of the lights and close the envelope with melted wax and the press of a thimble ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt
my mind is a stagnant pool never willing to change and yet change happens dwellings burn batteries uncharge dust gathers electronics increase in personality hangers rust people die and your third cousin on your mother's side gets excommunicated. things decay, and yet the mind holds ever on. empty space echo dust what f uu ccc kkkk tears flicker darkness silence Ode to Tim O! how the winds blow And your eyes used to gleam When the fire died to a dull glow And the bobcats scream. He would run a-pitter patter All across the lawn, And all would swear he never got fatter Until they saw him yawn. Alas! that he left his room And moved across the state, He must have a very large womb, For he hath birthed a plate! He went off to learn to swim When he was one or two, He drowned a friend on a whim And stuck him in the flue! Alas! that he could not be found When the po-po came to arrest him, He had stolen a dog from the pound And lived with it on a limb. When he turns thirty, he'll be a hobo Living on crabs and rice, He'll serenade tourists on his dobro: He'll only have washed his hair twice! walk down the deserted sixlane street lights polkadotting the asphalt steaming look up into the sky there am just dropped onto youreyelashes through rows of cars holding their breath look into windows and see peter&sylvie pouring over coffee andonthego breakfast the kid in the backseat staring out the window follow gaze see the baby in the caracross the line crying a man in a blue baseball cap releasing ashes from the end of cigar finally to let go and watch be run over by threehundredeighteentires before dis-integrating in the rain ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt
ar^ts=c.(re@[m]sp sy$c-hed\el,icrh y*th:m> running in circles spinning a rush of dizziness in my mind a cognitive labarynth a library chat round books with round shelves a chain of rings floating down going through the lamps tables carpets getting lost in the solid grey below reach out and caress the sun its discharges lapping fingers vibration of soundlessness push that button and make the spring move the stars i ate you for breakfast and you tasted liked macadamia nut cookies with chocolate frosting i woke up and smelled you and you smelled like burnt cinnamon roll but i rub you over a grater to get the charred spots off and i feel a great sense of accomplishment i dreamt about you and i saw a banana seat bicycle rusted in spots but overall good i heard you on the radio and it made me cry i felt you in the washer a hand gripping mine a sense of security in a place unlooked for i met gretchen ross she told me to follow your heart but i don't know how to listen to my heart last night i had a dream i was on a spaceship soaring through the waste of space a voice came throught the loudspeaker heaven in five four three two one and i awoke i look at you from across the sidewalk and smell the air refreshed see your hair streaming down your face watch you blink as the raindrops hit your cheeks and slide down the side of your lips dropping off your chin to be broken into a million little pieces by the jagged bumps of the cement and realise that i love you that you alone can complete this circle that i would rather spend one lifetime with you than face all of eternity empty ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt
methinks this wicked peasant doth measure a mischance oft vile. not bad. yay magnetic poetry!... ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt
here goes... the smoke rises in waves and curls. it licks the dust on its way by, coating the particles in pecan-flavoured soot. it gets caught in the updraft of the nearby flame, sailing into the air, its stransparent rivulets slowly decaying to join the weightlessnesses that are found so often in the air. the flame waves and twinkles into a thousand shaftes of gold and then goes out. not too bad, eh? ~ jon © 2006 jonathan brandt |
