Corey Marks

A Brief Account of my 33rd Year

The Year I set a date on calendars, blank
and given you everything
Year my life wasn't changed but rearranged
and no boy nor man would come near my
dwelling place.
Year I sat out in my pussy wagon
and escaped the troubled tone death muzzle
of those who took my ambitions for a cop-out
and their mouths dropped when i exceeded my 
dreams and was called up into destiny


Dumb Luck


Boredom,
brought on by simple sadness
depressed by such madness
How I could stand being stuck in a rut
I'd been forced in by the bandits attempts to
torture my self inflicted need not cause pain





Loss

Comes like the scatter of new bunnys
born after the set of the sun on a
cotton-scented day in May
I let tears fall as the lives of those
heaven sent , had gone away.
I drank all, the next day
and felt my insides disintegrate

 The String

threaded and shredded with
orange coloring and died red end
and kids knit, grandmas sit in blankets
made of it

The Empty Theater

quiet and murky
and projectors broken
where film tore and disappointing
customers uproar in disgust



Bell

ringing in the day and night
never quiet, and to the ones who still lay sleep
once church let in and the sun rose to its
highest point


 To the Reader

that shares my pain
and run away to the nearest path leading
down a dark way
or says hey, to the devil left on
their right shoulder
and the angle swore to stay away


Little Bird

afraid of what they heard
that the next day they flew tree to tree
for their spawn who fell, one by one
to the ground below the
and the little one died instantly
but the older once struggled for breathe



At Seven

i was saving 11 pencils to use in school
and when my teacher ran out
i took more
and hid them in my bookbag til
she came up with more


After the Shipwreck

we burrowed onto lifeboats, rafts
and whatever light enough
to float us to the next place
we have to stay in order to survive
a lifestyle stranded amongst forced pals
who would like nothing more to be on a paradise
island without me raining in on their
new isolated corner of the world

Bruce Bond

Body and Soul

Where to find freedom over the horizon
where feet, cut and callused drag over
trails of tracks erased from those who try to escape
where broken backs yield to the fresh fields

and they slump over and work
until blood hits the bone
and finger ball at the crests of their knuckles
and exhale out prayers for repair

they carry weight on their heavy hearts
and sometimes hear the screams echo through the fields
of another who chased the moon over the edge
but were snatched back once the sun rose again


Ringtone

An annoying pitch to the ear
when we hear Cassiopeia,
A cricket chirp or the chime of a bell
ringing throughout the cases,
pockets or bags that hold them
and alert the owners that will choose to
ignore them, silence them, or  return them


Ash

Smudged stains on denim jeans and 
buds sprinkle grey dust to the floor,
burning still. Clouds fill the airways and i pat the
peach flavored cigarillo against my thigh to release
the ash into the wind and then exhaled into the holes
I poked into the sides of caramel root bear
bottles that were clear once the bud became too
short to extort smoke from just the pull of the
lit end.


Two Dreams with a Brief Waking in the Middle

where did my mind wonder to
into paroles of dreams that
scare me. I moved my lips to create wording
were suppose to save, but they only furthered
my slumber that felt like an induced coma
of motionless bodies just lie still
and my mind wanted to awake but another dream,
it just replaced

Scar

My mother owned a rose gold, eggplant broach,
with purple crystals and lime green stones.
it sat on her dresser and I often took it with me into my bedroom
i would gazed at the glare of my reflection into the broach
and watch as 8 of me stare back into my face
and i stuck its pin into cloth of my Little Maggie Doll's dress
but missed the clip and it stuck straight into my skin
and red plasma spilled out.

The Human Share

Revelation of his return
and the
and carry the visit of  his son,
where a rapture would come
 and carry those of us, good, up above.

How humane are we, to live up to a God
the ultimate being, and human's share him
through laughter, pleasure and prayer.



Elysium

Most dangerous of all is reality
for if i could fall into a dream to escape
the madness of it all, that would
make me the most happy.

like, the ray of auburn chocolate kisses
that touch the spine of my back from him,
my dream man, and in the end
he licks me like Barbie, would Ken


Estate

Land cultivated by manicured lawns
and on Ireland green grass
sat a house, and a stable, and a shed
that left a bands of their glare
over the neighbors sun lit land it spares

Peal

These long days, and the glazed eyes
and zombie-like behavior of students
afraid of the inevitable, and teachers
standing on sticks and steeples as they approach
the end of the reoccurring adult day care
that babysat the over-achiever chats and
thumb tacked their grades into their imaginary
hall of fame


White

And for a time it seemed like all noise
only hummed through the voice box
of voiceless convents and we draped
and clasped speakers to our ears
until the outside world rapidly disappeared