gabbie good

Cont. - Running Scared - Poem by gabbie good

Running Scared

you're goin' nowhere
runnin' with your eyes closed
thinkin' to ease your heavy load

listen to the echoes of your shadows
wishin' for easy tomorrows
talkin' into the dead phones of yesterday

you're shifting
you're lifting
you're throwing it all away
it's plainly stamped on the backs of blue jeans
the hopes and hopelessness
of cast aside dreams
hi ghpriest
on neon signs
playin' today
beggin' mam for a dime
runnin' scared
you gittin' nowhere...
in burnt bottle caps
tenth of always your last stop
god is the coca-cola bottlin' company
you've heard his voice on N. B. C.
and when he gives it a rest listen to his son on C. B. S.
brought to you live
this ain't no jive
by your friendly neighborhood
soul buyin' agency
they aim to please
good news ain't guaranteed
ask for mister lucifer
the man with the friendly smile
for your soul he'll walk a mile
no trade in
no deposits
Read more →no return
no credit cards accepted... but...
you can take the lay away plan
with easy pay a mint...

statue of liberty
on 42nd street
lookin' like an old hag
is it a guy in drag
see youuu laaattteerrr
got to check out this female impersonator

and you still ain't half way there
can't pick up enough speed
didn't listen to your own decree
now you're stranded on this subway station
called hypocrisy
do you wish to take a runnin' jump?
can't smooth out the lumps
on the high ways
roads and by-ways
and there's a toll booth on this freeway
(freeway? ? ?)
an abe or a george
doesn't matter there
ain't no
CHANGE...← Less

On The Day They Birthed My Mother...

The wind pushed the sun
behind the moon
in the dark of light I saw
shadows trailing the cool

Autumn shook hands with winter
just before it died
Summer leaves bloomed
and ran away on a spring ride

coulds wrote an epithet
on a mountain tombstone for an
a deer laid dead on a fresh water stream
and the hunter cursed
beneath his breath at the spirits of
the stars who caused the deer's death...

The earth shook with laughter
as the spades tickled its side
and gleamed so pretty with
so many forgotten flowers
from those final cadillac brides

My hat fell in the open grave
my feet inside my shoes swayed
my gloves were wet with sweat
looked quickly in the mirror of my heart
sign a relief...
and calmly smiled my fears aside...

La Cañonera Del MundoPEdit
Que yo me cago en la madre tierra que
te parió
me meo en el cielo que te cubrió
le escupo al viento que te acarició
te hablo a ti bandera americana
a ti que me ves andando por las calles de new york
mientras chillas como un carro pegando freno
sal de atrás de esa corbata blanca
que asalta el calor de ser humano
el calor de mantener una familia con la miseria
que me pagas por el calor de mi sudor
y no me dejas vivir en paz con tu
y yo le pido a changó
que te destruya tu idioma
que te caiga a bimbazo a tu cultura
que te llene a tus hijos con ideales postizos
que te ponga a tus hijas en las esquinas to hustle
con las pantaletas cagadas mojadas con la sangre verde del peso
el peso de no ser lo que tú eres, un enano entre los gigantes
manicomio de estrellas sucias
que yo me cago en la madre tierra que te parió
que yo me meo en el cielo que te cubrió
que yo le pego un gargajo al viento que te acarició
tu bandera americana
cañonera del mundo.

On The Lock-In

night time

i am alone

hang unused

stack of unread
century-old books

cover the table
the cigarettes
cut in two cast

on the surface
resemble the freckles
on a white-boy's face
dick ricardo invites
me to saint george
big dance

the sound of a sax
duels with the notes
of a flute on the

gallery below
brothers voices fight

to harmonize a

i hear
shuffling of cards

(no mail)
brothers playing

in the stream of solitude


singing that blue

brother in the nest

coughing must be doing
what i just did

I still think of

the brothers

fight a losing

the sox won

(lights out)

I thought of you
i masturbated
should i
fix a cup of kool-aid

latin voice sings

(count time)
Read more →

the jingling of
a hack key are now

an odd sound← Less

Spring Garden - philly(abrrv)

Spring Garden wears a welfare coat —
in the summer...

Fashion minded eyes trod up & down
its streets enjoying graffiti —
sprinkled on the walls by bored fingers/
bored thoughts/from excitement lacking espiritus-

It's 8 o'clock in the morning & latin bodies
bundle up to war against the city —
children venture on their suicide mission
SCHOOL/a battlefield of non-existent education

Libraries are open 22 sundays a year...

The parents have headed off their cares to do
battle themselves...
The factories/the bosses/the foremen former
countrymen compais...

Cold callous metal concrete city streets where smiles come hungry from the eternal
bill collector...

It's 12 pm & fist fights break out on the
charity lunch lines...
empty trouble soothing wine bottles are
tossed regretfully in the gutter —
Flies/bugs/maggots/roaches struggle for the
corner taste
the human tongues didn't reach...

The pushers are up from their beauty sleep
counting last nite's take — discounting today'

decking duces & treys...

their open air pharmacy on 14 & green is
being held by Don Ernesto el bolitero-
giving Doña Clara evil brujo stares —
Evil brujo stares to Doña Clara la espiritista
& the starving crowd beggin' el señor santo
to agree with Doña Clara's dreams & omen interpretations
for once... por favor today is a good day to hit
the number...

Doña Clara prays too...
there's a fifty dollar tip in store
mira mira me pegué & a trip pa' la isla...

A mucho needed vacation...

It's 6 pm & the latin people who go dancing
are copping nickle bags of good columbian yerba
(Eddie Palmieria will be in town tonite)


who's got the best smoke in town Flaco
Tabaco-Tabaco suelto y en saco

an american proverb:

'If you don't advertise — you don't sell'...

El Bodeguero is cursing his wife/his helper/
his-self he ordered enough milk but not
enough beer.../'cause
the day has given up to the nite &
the ghetto is hot...

La calle is occupied/shrill shreaking
sounds of ring go leevio... hide & seek
up & down the street...
young girls in tight jeans flirt with long
haired youths... who offer
whistles & comments & promises

Oye, negra ¿to eso tuyo?
¡Si te cojo, nena!
¡Qué lio te buscará! ! ! !

¡Pero qué buena está la hija! ! !
¡Pero qué buena está la mamá! ! ! !
The turf is filled with jibaro y salsa música
que viva la música...

Stoops are now tournament centers for domino
playing friends...
bandstand← Less

la Gente Que No Se Quiere Pa' Na Con La Lengua Applaud • x
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El sábado por la noche
la selva de cemento está
brillando y las cuchillas están
bailando y los hosiadores están buscando
los soquetas con sus pasos misteriosos
y parece que todo está flojo porque dice la
gente que no se quiere pa' na con la lengua
que en los ojos de los niños la palabra
escrita grita crimen y le pone sombras a las
estrellas porque ven que el pendejo le paga
al cabrón de la vida y
la gente que no se quiere pa' na con la lengua
dice que en el lower east side lo malo
se pone bueno y que lo bueno se pone malo
los sábados por la noche
y si te coje la policía ni el médico chino
te salva tú sabes así dice la gente que no se
quiere pa' na con la lengua
y en los roofos duermen los que les apesta la
vida gritándole a las chinchas y a las cucarachas
y los piojos
así dice la gente que no se quiere pa' na con la lengua
y dicen que estos son los hombres con la moronga
hecha de cartón
y que pelean contra la lucha de ante noche de hoy
y de mañana tú sabes
pero todos son padres y madres con retratos de
prisión en sus mentes y el ritmo de conga
en sus piernas cuando andan por el bloque
pero yo no sé
porque todo eso es lo que dice la gente que
no se quiere pa' na con la lengua
tú sabes...

Visitin' A Friend At The Cold Shop

PEdit Applaud • x
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In the place of business lunches
where a dull sun rises to blind your
toothpaste brushed eyelids with its
red veins blowin' tracks from
ballpoint hypodermic needles that
tickled your gut & scratched your
toes frozen by the light of the mid-
afternoon moon & closed the closet
door of your mind that kept you
informed of the escalator the priest
used when he baptized you with the last

'we are gathered here today to spit
out curses at this fool who up & died
on us & left us with all his debts &
blueface bill collectors & buried his
self with credit card suit
let us pray to god almighty that the
lottery ticket we found hidden in his
right shoe will hit the prize
in life & help us elevate & escalate
the cost of this funeral party'

nobody brought along a transister
portable radio to hear the score
of the basketball game being played
at the local neighborhood playlot
uptown at the bowery
so let's hook up the portable t. v.
to the stolen car battery & watch
'as the world turns'
maybe the creep will be bored to life
& regain his claim to manhood
by facin' off the man & collect
unemployment from the dope pushers
of factorias job & time clocks
& hero sandwishes & cheap cold wine

why am i bein' so mean to this man
who lost his underwear at the
macdonald store & had them fed to him
as the chef's main menu stew
man his shoes look good

'shit why he
ain't gonna
give them no
use — the worms
will only abuse
the leather in
the laces'

everybody that didn't know
him came today to pay their
final first impression respect
& steal from the collection box placed
on top of his toupee

'i'm glad they didn't
take him to long island
long island is a very
traffic dangerous trip
brooklyn is a cheaper
bon voyager
la isla is too expensive'

unless we send him parcel post
& air mail stamped on his
go thru customs inspection
has anybody got a peanutbutter
& jelly sandwich left over from
the school hour lunch break
my heart aches for my partner
who left me all his dues to
collect from our cocaine dealer
who turns out to be a paid squealer
& send his friends in for dollars
man this is the longest five minutes
i ever spent let me make my inspection
& spend ten cents to call my only true friend
the connection...

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 19, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, January 22, 2013

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