Archive for the Paul Koniecki Category

even(ing) by Paul Koniecki

Posted in Paul Koniecki with tags on September 13, 2017 by Scot

 

when in every dream
i am william cutting
five points bill the
butcher cursing or fighting

american eagle false eye
controlling every other move
like a star trek
ceti eel larvae and

i wish daniel crocker
was here to put
it (all) in a poem
and save me between

fits of lost control
panic mania hurricane eyelids
man’s inhumanity to sleep
and again to man

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luminescent oils by Paul Koniecki

Posted in Paul Koniecki with tags on April 26, 2017 by Scot
– for reverie

i think if john dorsey had written
a poem about the time we lived

in that little apartment on fort worth
avenue between the i30 on-ramp

and the miramar motel with all the
car troubles and the kid’s car troubles

the trips to king tire for twenty-six
dollar used specials or ten dollar plugs

your famous lentil chick-pea curry
black-bean tomato soup simmering on

the stove and us trying to feed and save
all the world and the beautiful lights

i think he would of called us
luminescent oils

like the bottle of body-wash this morning
standing watch in the corner of the shower

____________

Paul Koniecki keeps his poems on his smartphone to hide them from the government. 

immurement by Paul Koniecki

Posted in Paul Koniecki with tags on November 24, 2016 by Scot

 

-for Freddie Carlos Gray Jr

the world is a moped of jungles and noodles and dust

the cask of amontillado is on fire

i fold a bivouac of policemen selfies

baltimore is burning

immurement needs no help

more people speak hindi than english and this

testicles are the minority

i catch myself running circles

take my word for it and do something

reason has two very different definitions

the day is a calamity

the night is a pumice of silent anxiety

shouting occurs

yawning excuses in the face of our dogged sincerity is executed

reason
belies immurement
and fire

gravity yawns oxygen laps
yet baltimore on fire continues to exist

freddie gray no longer exists

black holes of morality in the fabric of a nation in decline are made of this

perhaps edgar allan poe has gills and wings

where together they go nice places

when we are dead we can go anywhere

content with the super-volcano under yosemite

happy in our spines