My Teddy Bear
My Teddy Bear is always there whenever I get home.
He never runs off not saying goodbye, and leaving me alone.
Instead of a shrug he gives me a hug whenever I need one.
He sits with me when I start to cry, and doesnt leave til I'm done.
My Teddy Bear knows exactly what he needs to say,
To turn the rainy clouds into a sun shiny day.
He loves me for who I am, and not for what he wants me to be.
He doesn't ask for anything, because he's the only one who can see.
I just need someone to love me, and give me the time of day
Not someone who tries to impress me, or just says 'It's gonna be OK'
My Teddy Bear is the only one I can trust with my heart
Because I know he will be there always, not just at the start
Not just when its time to meet his parents, or party on Friday night
Or to ask for someones number, or to have one of my Sprites
I love My Teddy Bear and he has always helped me through
But one thing that he cannot do is say 'Jay, I love you'
So if My Teddy Bear cant love me back as I love him,
I dont know if theres anyone who can, and thats why my world is grim
-jReese
Falling
Down
Reminding myself that each night I spend holding
you is one night closer to the day I'll have to let you go. Something so young should not
be fated to such a premature end, but still I find that I deny us the time we have
now, avoiding an inescapable ache.
Telling you that you only need to worry about
yourself, because I'm the "strong" one.
Lying to you. Lying to myself. Refusing to open
my heart, for fear that I could never force it shut again. I pray god will give me
the courage now to tame my emotions in preparation for the day that I'll have to watch you walk away; now
I know what I have to do... this is the way it has got to be.
-Ben
O
09-23-03
20 and already so jaded? Now I always wanna be faded.
Turned into what Ive always hated, and everything has been wasted.
What the fuck I used to care so much
Bad luck? No Im just stuck
This world, this place, grabbing me by the face,
Ive forgotten the cardinal rule in my haste. its just a chase
Im the loser, last place, the unfortunate, the short straw, the last to draw,
the one that's not like the others.
The blonde. The nigger. The prima donna. The asshole. The psycho. The ho. 'yah
that one over there, oh my god'
But here I stay, or so I may,
Ive got no say anyway. Until that one day....
-jReese
<cremation>
beauty may squat, hidden, in the bodies of men, the fat spun
around boys ribs, inside my own wrong bones;
this has not unmade the mirrors that crack me into halves,
the second dealing justice perfectly to the first, which, beaten, lies weeping by the curb.
i have
always held the club; i have always pardoned the crime.
with shut eyes i might half-stitch up these irrevocable
skins and pass, naked, through the ovens;
as my own blind cremator, i could sift though my urn, nearly
forgetting the name of the ashes.
-Danny Marcus
epinephrine pen
in the suburbs
she dreams about wasp eggs,
white and round
like bitter pills.
she goes to wash
but dark abdomens
pump in the sink.
she screams,
they disappear.
she moves to a fort
on long island. they follow
and bang cans in manhattan.
in the awful moment
when the sun levels
with the moon,
she wakes up.
on the flaking sill, a wasp
pushes a coarse egg
into a hole. she
flicks it away.
-danny marcus
Suction
The beige St. Louis depot with brown-speckled tile smells of middle-America, of
the life youve noticed on the television and occasionally at archaic bowling alleys
A light hum-hum vibrates from the decade-old soda machine enveloped by
brown white plastic signs and you notice the wailing rips of the fake leather brown black chairs
Out the window, a single sandy skyscraper screams above a rusted horizon of
tin cans and dilapidated cardboard factories which reminisce of greater days; and you wonder where it has all gone.
And as you prepare your bags an explosion of anticipation inside your
feeble chest reemerges like an old friend from the North, a rush of colorless emotion flooding toward Chicago.
-r. boyer
Depression 11-16-02
The world is an illusion that dances around my head One minute exciting
and the next merely dead. Who are we to pretend the miniscule tragedies of our infinitesimally small lives are important
in the empty abyss of this lonely universe? Why am I the only one who sees? The fees of living, not living. Observing the
insane from the outside, then one day, its on your side, and you understand how easy it is to slice the flesh of an unknown
being.
I wish I could exist without existing, see without being seen. Be clean. Dance
without being tranced by that fancy shmanced Bullshit they prance. So many to love. So many I dont love, but love anyway,
because the naïveté of my soul cannot stand cold like the last minute of my timeline. Echoes of laughter make me think Im
a stink, did I blink and miss the shit thats ink on the page?
Do I have a name? Been so many things from letters to insults, nicknames and
any shames that could bring a game to someones lame boring Saturday night flame.
Down the hall comes, alien waves, slaves to the waves, my mind bathes in the
shade of the cave they create.
When will it end, at the bend so I can send this flaming fueling mortal stringent
back to the charcoal space from which it is bent.
-jReese
to the cigarette
tell me
about mummies
and furnace coal
or pottery men
standing in graves.
i need to know
what monet saw
in the station steam,
what whistles he heard
forced through a bitter lung.
please release
the machines secret,
how he comes pumping
with boots free of
soot. spell new dreams
from your packaged mind
your manyarmed tongues
bound like shiva, spinning.
ive seen your flyers
hanging from jaws,
ads for your newest film,
maybe. youll wear
a chaplin suit this time,
smirking with that
tiny, unforgettable moustache.
ill stand behind
nick drakes shoulder,
trying to catch
your silent,
horoscopic flaw.
ive been here
for years and you
keep getting closer,
signaling in handtalk.
you steam in from
fifteen miles away,
bawling past the beat poets
into my grandpa
out through a goddamn exhaust pipe
who am i?
im the hiding boy
in the shower where you
strip off your paper dress.
i heard the colloquium and
cant stand your priests.
your jealous breath
stinks like worn pennies,
like the manticores
who haunt streets
swinging newspapers
like incense burners.
you rise from a pond
with one eye and dance
back and forth
and moan.
-danny marcus
04-30-02
Nothing can stop me once I get goin.
A tingling inside and all the while knowin.
I'll never again feel the wind on my face blowin.
Leaning into that curve, tip toein. Eight years behind me, and none in my future.
Fear of being a loser.
My last pursuit of an impossible dream.
How could a desire so immposible before seem even more unattainable now?
What has this meant for my life?
-jReese
Your Running Away
Your running away running away from what u've known Your running away
running away from who u might of known
The future leads us back to the past We're blown away and can't come back The feelings
gone its blasted away My heart is broken and she's gone away
Your running away running away from what u've known Your running away
running away from who u might of known What was left has flown The sun don't shine no more And the sky
is falling all because My heart is broken and she's gone away
Your running away running away from what u've known Your running away
running away from who u might of known
What should of been I couldn't see my eyes were blinded By the sight of thy And
i'll i've got left is A broken heart and she's gone away
Your running away running away from what u've known Your running away running away
from who u might of known
-Runner Dude
Touch of a Dream
With this begun and shadows gone
along the path of sleep and dreams,
we sit and watch the world pass by
like gods not seen but there between.
He attempts to make it all fit right
and reach out across the void,
to pull one close and feel the warmth
of another to be held.
No hand can break this bond of love
forever it shall last,
as this was always meant to be,
defy the ever laughing tongue.
But time shall turn that head to see
the truth of what is there,
and beyond the sunset of their eyes,
the flowers sing a mournful tune.
-PDB
04-11-02
Inside a glossy glass bubble I sit.
Although I am eternally trapped, I can see through it.
Inside, trapped, I roll down a droll mountain uncontrolled.
Disoriented, the world is a streak of blurry hurried passing photos.
A site to which I am so accustomed, I know not I am moving.
Approaching, a cliff, towards it, my bubble begins to drift.
Over it, I fly through the sky.
-jReese
02-27-02
A jolly chuckle
A helping hand
Are these the things that make me who I am?
Who do they see?
What do they see?
-jReese
J Reese
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