For A Better Propaganda

For A Better Propaganda


The Author
The Wood Room Collective
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Spoken Word

EEKS
Wood Room Collective
Harrisburg, Pa

you’re clever as ever
and i’m brokenstuck in bed
waiting for my muscles
to rebound

tired of wishing,
so i stuck my fingers
in the earth and started
digging (sike) that would
be nice wouldn’t it?
at least for your intrepid author

i, the king of dumb
luck, barely stumbled out
of my stupor and you appeared

better than ever

don’t i seem like the type of guy you could claim?
and rebuild to your own specifications?
you look like a woman who knows what she wants

I’m at the bar
melting into my cup
God bless the internet

She’s foreign,
I’m four in

She’s a dog person,
I’m a person, dog

I’m a dogged person

She’s an academic,
I, an archaic discipline

She thinks clinically
I’m the control

sometimes i see you in photographs
concealed in headlights or glistening pavement
a trailing leg just out of the frame

or in dreams, while i grasp at sheets
fighting the sun

i think about my feet
meeting the ocean floor
brave toes breaking new
ground

Pretentious

Irma

a mistake made permanent,
she is woven into our story
like warm quilts

everything is meta,
a commentary upon itself

a self serving compliment
would like it’s soup warmer
please

(no) thank you,
I’d rather ignore my
loved ones in lieu
of vibrating pictures

synthetic humanists

You’re beautiful
broken
a sombre portrait

I see residue,
your steps illuminated

Never return
to those places you
forsake

Believe in the altruistic naivety
of simple men,
a simple man

Morning fission

ladymycroftmansfield:

Up horizontal
Fall back to pillows
My heavy eyelids
Uranium

Search

always looking for an ashtray
or checking pockets
for loose paper,
backyard architect
funnels sunlight into
thirsty scalps

worn elbows and anxiously
sheared fingernails,
sometimes a cool breeze
send me to violent fits

it ends

with tight lips and
letting go

the only way authors
know how

you’re predictably cute
walking away

hate is tempting
like red and sickly
sweet

i feel like kindling
tightly wound

all of my favorite words
escape me, pursuit is
a lonely occupation

company is not sport,
nor as fulfilling as a warm
meal spread evenly across the tongue

i’m not sure where these steps
are headed

Everyone Eats

probably too early

but why not?
it’s grey
and raining
and familiar

sweater arms and frayed
cuffs. chain links and spilt
pebbles from burnt orange
construction vehicles
gurgling diesel and chatting (cath-ily)
with stiff flagger personnel
i’m tired jim

one of them is probably
named jim

there are blue walls
and blue words
and different ways to
say essentially the same thingand that’s how everyone eats

someone i know used the word
sandcastles to describe moments
of unrecorded extemporaneous
creativity

i dream that the river
rises and swallows my city
(i don’t, but you know)
mermaids drag smiling
victims to paradise
the buildings retreat more gracefully

"i guess this is life as a data point"
subject to the slip of a clumsy
college students finger
a leering professor
a disapproving
glance

something somewhat significant

Go West

You’re playing the piano
and we’re singing the songs
from that musical you like

I’m squinting to read the words
and watching your fingers crawl
over the keys

Somehow you keep surprising me

I left with suitcases,
too-full, and memories.
You changing outfits, adjusting
makeup. I waiting patiently
with the dog

…I tell everyone that
happiness lives where
you do