Stories With Less Punctuation

Stories with Less Punctuation

A Collection of Poetry

By

Christian Z. Montalvo

Haiku 575

Dying tomorrow,

I have lived with my own;

I will die, grateful

On A

Writers

Favorite

Subject:

____Dying

Simple.

I was told once,

long ago

And so patronizingly slow,

That I might

That it would be best,

Perhaps

That I should

Go.

And it was from the lips;

of one I held so dear

that the fear gripping me so,

told me I shouldnt sneer

And my only action was to

Go.

And when I went,

I found a new place;

Above the sky I saw

a hundred souls being told,

Go.

From Then On

From time to time,

I lose time-

Slip it away in the pocket.

Then, punished!

You failed;

And you stole a pulse (or two)

Time to try again;

but you teach me, nothing.

On watch,

I can close my eyes-

everything is beautiful.

Like For Die

Hear the tweets of birds- all high above our skies.

Scrolling through the jungle, vine to vine;

midnight blues, please, oh, please, pour into the eyes.

With click and flicks I have an information mine.

Send me a message a hundred and forty words.

Twitching fingers and tracking eyes so unrestful,

unprepared to die;

say what you say. Say what they mean be mindful of the

herds.

Be wary of your saying, it can only be spry.

If I die, you shall see;

A hundred likes, please oh, please, forgive me.

Ode to Silence

By saying it is silent, it breaks the air;

An eternity of particles awakened.

With recognition, its left to despair

All thats sapient can be mistakend.

But drown in water- so shhh, so still;

and let the truth escape you. Please do not

let go so young, make the old take the spill;

bleed the colors, wet, oozing, clear the rot.

In the night, become the fears of the silent;

vanish with your promise of warm spring waves

to come againdown the road, a step away from tyrant!

Give up! tickles a tongue; but lend hand to brave.

Release yourself- old and brittle. You will come again.

Be with yourself, breaking some silence. Come again.

ON

THE

WORLD (AND THE PEN)

The Name of this Poem is: Clock Heads

Heel to Toe,

Bodies in lines and in rows.

We wait for minutes unknow in a world that cannot stand still.

Hand in Hand,

Money trails behind where we stand.


Bumper to bumper,

Until the waiters become jumpers.


We wait for the moments of stopping,

where the running ceases and the clocks freeze,

left alone we will stand in the breeze.


The Title of This Haiku is Longer than the Haiku itself

(Actually its Not Longer than the Haiku Until Ive Told You

That the Previous Statement was False)

***

All these god damn lines

Laid out with nothing to lose;

Make no sense to me.

The words from my mind;

where do they disappear to?

It seems that nothing this great, this curvy, could ever fit on

something lined

Ive learned;

well I have seen

That the words mean less and less to just be.

So be as it may, and be as it will

I will hesitate but not regret to pick up what once was a quill.

For the shameless rhyming,

and the wilting girls

the pen will twirl.

And last but not least;

something tangible will burn

the people will mourn and the words will surpass the urn.

Live long they may,

but who will know;

The words from my mind?

A GOOEY ABYSS CALLED LOVE

ITS KIND OF LIKE A CYST

One Day, Day One

Ive known you for so long

I havent really known you for much longer than a song.

Eleven days have been eleven months.

Baby, my darling, the way youre in my heart is only a hunch.

Ive known you for so long.

It happened like falling quickly. Wrong.

But one day it felt like day one.

Day two, felt like month two. I wont ever be done.

Ive known you for so long.

This poem makes no sense.

Youve scrambled my mind into an incohesive mess.

I do no longer rhyme, its just going on and on

Unravelling the writer

Kind of like my heart.

Unravelling your song.

OF YOU

If my face could be your mirror,

I could save a thousand words.

Think all the work my lips could

do,

unheard.

I have thought about it.

That maybe I would lose myself.

But to be a reflect of you,

that has infinite worth.

Goodbye For the Books

Meet me at the river my love?

Wear a dress all done up;

Blue to overshadow the expectations to create envy in the

doves.

Meet me the river; I need water to fill my cup.

Little babe, all buttoned down

I won't be gone too long now

But darling, darling, I shan't come back to you as you are now.

Little babe, all buttoned down why don't you unbutton now?

SLAIN/GAIN

Fourteen claws to shred

Through my beating Heart.

A thick ebbing flow of red

Yet never quicker to want more: I dart.

Bile rising, a slow burn choke

My lungs struggle to tame my chest

Your fingers dance, they evoke

I want your worst because your worst is my best

Quaking in my legs, heavy weight

Champion of my mind

Ive latched on and taken the bait

A thousand moments, seconds Ive pined

And to love has been more pain

But to be loved perhaps it would have waned

Yet you decide I offer no gain

So my heart, my dear, you have slain.

As I Lay in Bed, All Alone

Dig a little deeper--

dont you see,

just maybe, you haven't hurt me.

But yet I cry;

falling off the cliff --

a great, big, mighty, (last) swan dive--

right into that abyss .

and if tonight I do rest;

promise me! Oh promise me;

it will be the best.

Not a rest tamed in awakening, or even threatened by the breeze-

but one enslaved as a symptom of the disease.

KIND OF A

POLITICO

This is A Bed for the Whole World

Weighed down.

Down the river we go to our depth,

Flooded in the forever waters of our success-

Success which is defined in burlap bags of manufactured forrest.

One dollar for one minute of ridged serrated satisfaction,

To solidify the sadistic sanity of Man.

No Woman found here. Her satisfaction?

In seventy cents to the dollar, for work distant from the heart

or unattached from the womb.

Woman no cry no more?

But a different stereo screams silently in the ears of those who

have tuned in,

Begging for a back that has no ears to evolve into believing.

Struggle has long existed, excessively extant where there should

be extinction.

Looking up is often where down is found

An empty-ness of what is not there filling the eye of the

beholder.

Yet there is a creature immune to the pull of negative space-

One who rolls and riles in the raging, roaring river of revenue.

Riches heaped in the happening and havoc of blood that sinks

thicker than water.

Turn down the sheets

Of laundry done, of the bed that has been made.

The person laying next to you, soured in a slick sheen of

eminent exhaustion,

Broken down, only to bare the bruises of You.

An urgent sense of perseverance and self sacrifice to fulfil the

Role

They are done,

You are here,

In the bed We must lay in,

Together.

This is A Bed for the Whole World

*Read the

Fine Print*

Flag Summer

Legs, bare, longer

than the-

lines of cocaine-

snorted sea water

into the noses-

of children, of men,

of running

down, down

jump up, jump

jumping hop-

scotch in dads-

glass blown vases of

moms-

filled to the-

brims of summer caps

that crowd the yard.

Summer smoke, chokes

kills the cow

-ards jump off the

cliff

swan dive into the-

WATER! one dollar;

fresh! fresh!

fast-

America

AMERICA

american

Land of the free

-dom fighters

give us our guns!

well shoot

fireworks for fun;

games;

gains of

hot faith in Jesus

Jesus Christ

almighty-

groans through the

grins

and the screams of

the screwed;

screws in the walls

of my new tree-

houses burning down-

ashes, ashes

we all fall

down the rabbit's

hole-

ding hands with

lady;

liberty to wear

nothing but the bare

bear.

Rebuild! Rebuild

chant. chant. chant

until enchanted.

ten years coming

waiting

wanting

sawdust and splinter

rebuild. rebuild.

two more years.

debt.

-bit card

transactions

buy us our guns

buy us our large

large

large

asses.

Pass! pass!

the torch. the

wallet.

the mother. the

father

time aging our money

in god we trust

to screw us over

somewhere.

Dusty choke

biscuits in a

country oven.

easy baked-

stoned and tripping

over the sidewalk

cracks

breaking our mothers

back home living

where family is love

and

love is all you need

cries the stereo of

the old bags

bags bags.

macys let us

consume

the bags the bags

will not stop us

from becoming hags.

well die with a

bill of ten

thousands of

dollars cry the

whores on the

streets.

Cry me a river.

cry in a song.

riversong obsession.

regression!

regression!

the fat teenager

the lone teenager

the single lonely

depressed

sit on their ass and

watch the TV that I

watch.

sit down. sit down .

regression.

tv will corrupt the

brians!

zombies coming

a world obsessed

with the end of the

world

with dying.

so cry. cry cry.

In the summer we

will form our fight

clubs to dance in

clubs Ive never

been in.

summer of the flag

ships going down

town into the clubs

we venture.

curious teenagers?

no curious george

mucking up

fucking up the flag

summer.

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Stories With Less Punctuation