Dairedee BurrisLandwehr

Rookie - 10 Points (May 2,1989 / Kansas)

Chinese New Year - Poem by Dairedee BurrisLandwehr

this is the black velvet skin tight leo-tard of fire

that is restraining women in dark underbelly bars

tender faces spit tender and

whisper words onto stages

in the form of one dollar bills

and grave mistakes

life leases on backyard leashes

rattle the dog-cage and let me in


its raining and

i have grown wings

reminding me of expiration dates

sitting in the corner of your garage

boxes of me boxes of you

keep-sakes mistaken for garbage and

dumped into black sacks

land filling up with

unsaid hills and labeled mounds

blocking the sun and turning us all into vampires

sitting in dark rooms with Aristotle speaking in echoes

through the hole that goes deeper than normality explores

a basement of doors, and

you find out more than you bargained for

with salvation donations to your local

thrift-store 99 de-cent bin


collecting souls like a magnetic pole


the veil off and

blink at sun spots

drifting in sifting through

a social demand for

high heels and low

self esteem

dripping compliments meant to

make or break

a fine line down the back of spines

crack-pop alignment

spanning life sentences and

dead letters

listen for the echo in hollow hallways

repeating too many familiar words

for comfort

try to ascertain the circumference

of your Ego, but

instead you're left holding

an empty noose

loose around a neck-less

body lying without a mouth

I am speaking but

are you listening?

just tell me when

writing has become a

burning thing.

I am scribbling as fast as I can

until the pen

commits suicide

tired of trying

to contain the universe

in ink

we pour our veins into tubes

scratching deep in the skin of trees

presented to the public

to the masses

all masters of their

bachelor pads

associating the level

of degrees

is kept below freezing

vapor clouds catch the cold

so i smoke my anxiety away

burning more desires

in a passion pit

full of snakes and bad habits

try not to look, but

you'll see medusa;

the white rabbit

in holy robes preaching

about vita-mens

and sin

she blinks back tears

in her catch-22

love affairs

re: morse code tapping through interludes

alluding to pocket-books

opened like the Bible

interpreted to mean:


to be:


and you see apparitions of smoke

and smog

forming statues under stone hearts

dropped pots

collecting fees for the dearly

departed parts

sealed in wood boxes

beneath iron gates

for the late, the great

human remains

feeding the cycle

feeding your head

feeding your bed of worms and

thorned roses with

bone fingers ringed to a part

played by hands throwing shadows and

appalling applause

pray for something

other than


in a god

in more than

one man

one woman

one spark

destroying like shiva

creating like fire

you burn your desires and

the ashes form prophetic phoenixes

rising through difficulty

we are the star children

of mid-western skies

setting the tone

through bones and microphones

vibrating across plain jane apathy

in dark corner bars and

basement operations

connect the man to beast

I am the Taurus

feel my heart beat

for four horse men

bringing in the


while the earth gives birth

to this Chinese new year


on the page

in a test-a-ment of

age, this is

the year of the horse

pulling the son in a chariot

of fire

forever and

infinity resembles divinity

i confuse the two and

lose the truth

to speculation

calculate change

off the top of my head

project astral phases

just cause and affect

pause for effect

thirteen moons

in a year

thirteen years

past triple zeroes

and we're still looking for

idolized heroes

in scriptures past due dates

wait wait waiting

to vacate this physical state

this illustrated illusion

between awake and


For the time to pass

Under pearl gates, but

You ticket reads: late

and you sit on the curb

and wait

for a new game to start

watch the ball drop

then explain

the big bang

was just

god's fart


i do my part

on the side lines

with a broken heart

full of art and


spilling out to mingle

with you and me and


the holy trinity

ends in 3

ways to be


unlucky 13

irony metal-physical


down empty streets

to large graveyards and

king-sized churches

persistent realities

of consistent mortality but

all stars are born

to go



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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, February 6, 2013

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