I take classes, I take classes, I fail even at passing notes to cute girls, I do not think they’ll put me in their MASH.
96 proof on the board, I could be better if we come on baby do the twist and a splash of soda.
I should have been a million dreamed up butterflies burning down the forest of bodhi trees."
Kevin Grijalva, from The Love Song of J. Alredo FlimFlam, featured in the upcoming issue 7 of N/A Literary Magazine
Kevin Grijalva has had work featured in Underwater New York, Red Skeleton, Radius, decomP magazinE, and elsewhere. He writes at thetargetbird.com
Stay tuned for more sneak peeks!(via naliterarymagazine)
Oh hey, I did a poem and it’s gonna be in N/A, which is an awesome mag run by awesome people. Also, makes up for the lack of new stuff, maybe? Hopefully?
you are real and strong and no matter
what some wonderful could happen
looking at the sea from atop an island
our youth will exist in every age
because it has to but without the contrary
there is no progress - release me
from my heart so it can meet you
in the great and small distractions
without foraging in their drift
LMAO I posted the wrong screenshots before whatever
basically once I hear back from some ppl about how they want their names to appear here then I am like
Flattered is not the word and I’m very proud of you. I mean, I basically ushered you into poetry maturity and now you’ve become a beautiful butterfly* doing awesome poetry things and I can’t keep up with you anymore which makes me sad in an overjoyed way. Ugh.
*or maybe a moth. I feel like you might be a moth.
All we need to do is something.
So we fished in the city’s
wallet and found dirty change
and left over sand from a far away beach,
then took the train like a jet pack
so we had to squint through the rushing dark.
Things got me all knotted up
cause I was still late
and I’m now writing a note to apologize
and say god I want to kiss you
most minutes, except maybe
when the sky cracks open
but even then could you rejoin me
in a slow dance in a crowded bar?
The mastiff of sun accelerating
our change of seasons sheds on the couch,
I tried to nap the drinks off
but sneezed the pigeons from their wire
and the flutter shook you back
into rejuvenating and all I could think was
how different it would be, having
breakfast with you every day,
or looking out into the sea.
In a later nap’s dream,
I asked you to take notes of all
the hints of different somethings
kicking into a hurricane.
The sea at night yawns at the full moon
The sea at day does not cave for white flowers
The sea at dusk didn’t die young so it must die old
The sea at dawn scratches broadway neon out of its night beard
The sea at noon strokes my face and calls it a lovely day
The sea at three is an anxious puddle suspended before the bus stop
The sea at rest fidgets as soon as her eyes close
The sea awake gets a tummy ache as her lips seal around another espresso
The sea in bed cannot look everyone in the eyes
The sea in the morning kisses me with coffee ice cream morning breath