Archive for the lost in these purposes and collecting ours Category

i started walking without a limp.

Posted in a walk through the deep end of nothingness, collecting ours, i'm afraid of americans, lost in these purposes and collecting ours on November 19, 2011 by tony saputo

reinsert to the callous programming
characterizing by the value quo
perishing because i see the end

yeah, i took a while
transfered the energy
whiskey and imposed stubs drained the friends

now i remain a statue before this door
manipulating more gusto and capacity than ever shown
i have no where else to go but forward

hold on you motherfuckers, i am just starting

you will stab me without knowing why
you will hit me when i have bestowed my good graces
you will call me villain

this is the american dream
and you will not see it
until it all collapses

transfer nothing
dilute nothing
sacrifice nothing
occupy everything
we are not fighting just for us anymore


good man, he is

Posted in lost in these purposes and collecting ours on March 12, 2010 by tony saputo

elder and collapsable
flailing from minute to hour to day to month to another god damn year
scaling back to every heartbeat
moments in glances
a quick sliver of the chance
gaining myself in you
looking for the better days ahead
losing our friends a day at a time
as we misplace our time at days in rows
the fails
the failsafe
leaving us all so alone
yeah, i know there is a world spinning pretty hard out there
but i am staying right here for now

seriously, FUCK Corey Haim, the world lost a way better man…
i see you in our friends, JW.

“where the heck are we?”/lebanon rd.

Posted in a walk through the deep end of nothingness, lost in these purposes and collecting ours, what day is it on January 16, 2010 by matt questionmark

this pome is for rome
and for the flowrs that burn cold there
this pome is for mother
and her mother
and all the saturday smiles that crept from they ears
into my heart
this pome is for sidewalks
whose silly cracks i’ve slipped inside
like a vaseline filled glove
i was hugged from within
this pome is for numbers
whose whoring eyes have stripped me
of all my pride
this pome is for the humidity
i hate you
this pome is for lorca
and burroughs and the latter day saints
whose words fill my head like water in a fish bowl
this pome is for the burn-outs
cuz you never faded out
this pome is for this pome
because i never wrote it
because it was always written
and because you’ll never read it
this pome is for the lazy underwear romance
that stays in my backyard frozen with sadness
that we will never fully comprehend
this pome eats its food
shits it out
and burys in a box under a table in our kitchen
this pome drinks too much
smokes too much
sleeps too little
and wants more fucking on the floor
this pome is for the lost years of my life
this pome is for the nostalgia
that drips from my fingers like hot wax
and drys on your spine
every time i sift through my photographs
or hear a song from the days long gone
this pome is for shauna and shawn
this pome is for all those nights i injected
the hot sweet sex that is waffle house coffee
and never corrected our grammar
this pome is for those nights that we stole
and made our own movies without cameras
all our dramas laid out before us
like a new dawn each second that passed
this pome is for rasputin and huncke
slink through the streets
you proud lions of debauchery
this pome is for all those gin and tonics
and the hangovers i never got
because i preempted them with valium
this pome is for camel lights
whose smoke hugs my lungs
like a mother who loves her stories
more than her own children
this pome is for sarajevo
stadiums will grow again from the mined blood of the 1990s
this pome is for kabul
and all that bull……shit
this pome is for this pome is falling
failing and flailing
through this morose evening
drenched in boredom with no sacrifice
only dried skin flakes
and lack of health care.

every time i look out the window, she tells me something different

Posted in exploding heart, is it really real?, lost in these purposes and collecting ours, whore-to-culture on January 11, 2010 by tony saputo

on the dawn of the greyest morning
i awake, despite falling asleep less than an hour ago
an eye stares into this glass wall
knowing me, telling me of all the words and time i have lost
this is where i have been for the past two years

the darkest greyest mourning,
saluting to me, narrating all of my failures and lack of progress
a bottom falling out but never colliding
sending me on, flailing to never attach myself
keeps me knowing i will perish on my own

there is a collapse i missed out on
my dreams are not ones to share
and my hopes all prove to be the same
my own existence is my greatest affliction
a dialect of a language no one will ever even dare to mutter

in the world of selfishness
trivial identities
indecent glorification
and intolerance for those (us) who try to overcome it:::::::::::::::::::
love will surely die

the songs in winds

Posted in glory in the overlooked, heartbreak, lost in these purposes and collecting ours on December 2, 2009 by tony saputo

dissolve into rudiments
a force that controls, and a hope that lingers
stuck in the gums
a mouth cancer to be washed out upon whisky, fire, and spit
every chance i had lost

and upon her visage
much like the feather in the breeze
they are so much more beautiful dancing with the wind and her dreams
other than the settled foundation in the grass
perhaps i just learned what they always knew

and upon a callous society
the spiritual hind of an elephant wrapped around the tender fear
it is so easy to be afraid of something real
this is not a chance or trivium
this has been planned

and as us, the leaves, the feather, the loves, the losses travel
in this mother’s cursed twirling breaths
the songs of the bourgeois have been sung since we descended
and as we destroy our loves out loud and sing these melodies
i lie still, holding on, and quietly humming, of an unknown, unheard timbre, till i know it is safe to sing aloud.

if you forget this nightingale love, you never knew it…

broken jaw

Posted in butterflies envy this, glory in the overlooked, is it really real?, lost in these purposes and collecting ours on August 24, 2009 by tony saputo

a moment, and i snap my jaw into place, then out
jagged edges form, calling my name,
telling me they want me but will not love
showing me the next step
for some it is the millionth, others-trillionth

the world runs loose, untied, unforgiving
swearing all of us to her rusty womb
searing her name upon my longing soul
being sure to show me no regret or hesitation
she puts me to sleep and i fuddle through the collision

wake in pools of explosion, wildfire, and ever standing guilt
you will wish for shit and piss, i promise.
instead, the ears ring, singing of a mistaken mortality
harmonizing calamity with survival
the surreal overtones molto crescendo from an underwhelming reality

the glass breaks, liquids and smoke present my ignorance
waking upon the realization of what i was so close to
the life lost, the lives lost…. of whom were loved?
of whom did i love? of what did i fill it with?
all these questions, even after the matter,

you can cross the line, and bend all the edges you want; even then, you may still remain without an answer…
today i taught myself how to blow up this world
tomorrow i teach myself how to put it back together
chaos in order in chaos in order in chaos in order.

the minute hands do not move

Posted in guilt in the serenity, is it really real?, lost in these purposes and collecting ours, Uncategorized on August 10, 2009 by tony saputo

sickened to the stomach
raw to the core
anticipating everything that will come my way
trying to forget everything that left me behind
i went to hell last night
besides the clocks, it was all pretty much the same here