March, 2008

(archives)

self-employed

– brianprince

just got caught
sleeping on the job
grumpy and tired
i yell at the boss

stating how this
“stress-ridden
lifestyle would be
more productive

if i had a
little rest

i want to exchange
this exhaustion
so i can feel
more accomplished.”

but he keeps mocking me
every twitch
every wink
every hand movement

this mirror
just mimics
not listening
one bit

413

– brianprince

notes from monday night’s class.
where else but in…

art history. four thirteen.
contmeporary art’s. history.
second row. middle seat.
[doubtful thoughts? just her theory.]

Gustav Klimt. statement. beheading.
Laura Mulvey. Frued. and castrating.
come on rachel. take me away. help me.
[i’d rather be. in massage therapy.]

messagenist. psycho-analysis.
Carolee Schneenam pulling
scrolls from her vagina.
[is this really school?]

object of fascination.
Jessica Simpson.
blonde ambition.
[is this a history representation?]

phallus is a symbol.
not an actual penis. reasons
for art. women lacking genitles.
[what are we studying?]

someone just blurted out
bitches ain’t shit. and are
nothin’ but whores and hookers.
[check out ohhla.com for a hiphop lesson.]

[three hours. finally up.]
oh crap, we have an exam
next monday. i guess i should
have taken better notes today.

maybe i’ll cut up some coke.
[roll my scantron and snort.]
and join my professor in a mean
rail for an A on this bullshit.

fullerton

– brianprince

my city filled with street sounds. nicely covered with the stench of mexican rice. stove top. chili grounds. and spotted with check cashing stores. like a checker board. black. red. no green to be seen. not either side. black marks Starbucks. and red, Target. they’re on every corner. every turn. over my shoulder. in third place, the am pm mini marts. a bp company. sunrise colors. clash with yellow and green. i shop at the liquor/deli on lawrence. support the local theatre. saving old architecture. bike riding past bus stops. dreaming. freedom. child-like lollypops. to reach the barber shop. free cut. in exchange for the paint scheme. and logo. i love trading. free beer. the keg. and the kettle. train depot. the best mexican breakfast burrito. they add potatoes. at the sante fe cafe.

it’s always a beautiful day.

the goodness in cruising around. getting to know the owners of my city. stores. restaurants. bars. cafes. ace hardware. and convenient stores. from the SOCO District to McClains Coffeehouse. the book ends. of my city. harbor boulevard. after hours. the lights of the drunkards. so pretty. ugly. mainly because that’s not me. trying to get a piece. i stare from the outside. inside my volkswagen. jetta. in peace. better understanding. what it means to be free. that motorcycle cop always sits in the drive of the boba shop. i got a seatbelt ticket. and wished him well but was thinking… different. i removed my flip flop to arrange an oragami-style toe knuckle pop. as i flip him off. little caesars cashier. the woman supporting 5 children walking the stroller. ignorance gets older. construction hardhat mentality. re-do the sod because they forgot the sprinklers. giving jeri some money. he’s homeless no wonder. but he still supports the liquor/deli on lawrence.

sad

– brianprince

it’s wednesday. not the weekend.
damnit beth. i just bought
a six-pack of george killian’s
red.

i actually saw sad before. in words.
i saw her laying on the floor.
next to me. as i read her quietly.

leaning against the couch. lifting a
glass of wine to her mouth. as she
shouted how she hated me.

touching. then inhaling.
begging. then crying.
a crook. who repents.

in the robbed. smoke-filled.
brooklyn apartment.

crinkled. crumbled.
waste basket. shot.
not empty. but filled.

with sad.

tears.

helping me realize the
should-haves and what-ifs.
sexy calves to mid-drift.

a stream running.
over smoothed rocks. forming
bumps from under. drowning pollywogs.

numb. idle. this prosaic.
emotions stacked. like the dishes
in the drying rack.

drip.

drip.