29.1.10

A Tragedy by Cody Davis

A Tragedy by Cody Davis
Old habits make themselves new,
and you a plethora of reason
remains silent,
like a mattress on top of a hic-hic-hicupping bum.
Oh saint of depression deliver means of free,
3 bottles of wine
filling stomach and surroundings,
killing nerves to numb
and numb to necessary necessitation.
My limbs have grown old and fragile
My teeth are dry and powdering away
Fear fills heart and foam fills my nose and mouth. 

28.1.10

Sweater by Cody Davis

My hands are shaking like a small dog in water.

My knees too resemble the unstable stints balanced on clattering claws.
My eyes dawdle on Christmas lights and on my shaking hands and clattering knees.
My neck feels the seasons change,
Cool and warm against my skin,
Raising hairs and moistening hairs.
A high-pitched whistle sounds from my nose,
Trying to break your attention from your exhausted dreams and day’s worries.
My body is acting and reacting.
My hands are shifting and holding
Onto the twine unraveling your sweater,
The last piece of you that is mine. 

27.1.10

Dec. 25th. 2008 by Cody Davis

There's a strip of lights shining
different colors,
orange and blue,
pink and green,
and they're always coming on and off again,
orange and blue,
black
pink and green,
black.
Sometimes they blink in sync
with the tick tock
tick tock of my clock,
tick, pink, tock, black,
tick, green, tock, black.
Sometimes they all go together with a song playing,
dancing, visual meter, 120bpm.
But other times the red tipped white bulb day dreams,
forgets the temp,
steps out of synch with the clock and
then the
song speeds up, leaving
the ticks and tocks in the dust
and the blinks and beats and ticks
are as awkward as
a bum giving change to
a salvation army Santa.

The path to enlightenment by Cody Davis

Let me discover what is under.

Neath me is a bride, A bridge,
To find what it is I’ve been looking for,
A door to walls to break through,
with arms flaring and teeth shining a pale white,
glossy with whatever words I would say, but had forgotten.

If one foot crosses the dotted line
crossing hearts and twine divided into parts
through our fingertips, around our lips,
through ears and eyes and moans,
then stop!
Before you speak such corks,
Leak this wine into our mouths
And Appreciate the taste and smells
embellish themselves on the walls of our throats.

I only cross to find what is rightfully mine,
A place between friend or lover or
To fill a space between sheets and covers,
or books and knowledge that we’re the same no matter what.

No matter what.


Operation by Cody Davis

I’m shivering,

covered in splinters,
fragmented pieces of skin ripping skin into flesh into nerves.
shock up my spine,
I’m covered in splinters.

I ask for scissors to cut the splinters out.
Like sterilized metals pushing and prodding
Digging and removing,
Shining bright under fluorescent pupils.

“How long until I’m done?” I ask
“Until there’s nothing left.” They say
“Is that all?” I ask.

More pushing and prodding,
Digging and removing,
Sighs and sweat roll off of hands
Into the hole in my chest,
Creating a cesspool of fluids,
Mixing and bubbling like oil in water in corn syrup.

“Is that all?” I ask

Sweat dripping and rolling off
With sighs falling to the side
Brows raising and lowering
Noses sniffing and sputtering
Metals digging and removing,
Pushing and prodding,
Fluids mixing and bubbling . . .
And fluorescent pupils
turning purple,
and blue,
and green.

“We need more cotton swabs.” They say
“What are they for?” I ask.
“Just rest your head.” They say.

Pushing and pushing,
Breaking, snapping,
c-c-cr-crack!-ing
sewing, swabbing.
Brows raising and lowering,
Sweat rolling off of sleeves onto the floor.

I’m shivering,
Lying on a metal table
Cool metal on my back,
Burning on my chest.
The cold is too much to bare.








26.1.10

From 4:50-5:10P.M. by Cody Davis

White flies synchronize
sputters into gutters
side walks,
and coat sleeves.

A man,
going fast,
passes me
eating and watching t.v.

A black man reminds me of a black man I used to know.
I think his name was Charles, the one I used to know.
He was joining the marines, Charles.
It reminded me of all those I know who rallied.
I wonder how many of them are dead.

I'm chewing gum, even though I hate gum,
because I hate bad breath more.
The reason I have it,
the gum,
is my bad habit of walking away.

24.1.10

pwned. by Cody Davis

I've been downloading a game.
I don't play games often.
Usually I make fun of people who get caught up in games,
because it's waste of time and they get upset when they "die."
But for once I've been really excited to play a game.
So it's been downloading.
But now it is freezing at 50%.
50 fucking percent.
Serotonin thief. 
Games are fucking stupid anyways.

21.1.10

Acer's Bereavement by Cody Davis

I can not shake my leaves.

Other’s stand barren
And are wafted by the tresses of the winds hair
Slowing sap, sweet nectar, to the slowest drip of ecstasy.

I gather strength from the ties that bind me to the ground,
and press hard,
hard through my chest,
through my arms,
through my hands raised high,
in hopes that I will be noticed
from the little that my fingernails have grown,
but with no sum.

I yearn with such intensity,
Wont wrath beyond clouds illuminate?
Ignite my flesh and rid me of this burdensome chastity!
For such burns will be cooled by the whispers of winter.

Still at the glimpse of what might be salvation
my amber umbilicals, attaching themselves to my will,
leeches harvesting what sugar and soul I have left.

No thunder resides in the grays and purples of the sky.
I remain warm with embarrassment
While others die, covered in ice.


18.1.10

Free Write essay by Cody Davis

Sometimes I get to looking at people, older people, in their 30s or 40s, sometime 50s, and imagine them in their 20s, before they were married, or in a relationship at all, or were working full time jobs, before their hair was turning grey, or turning away from their scalps.

I sit and I imagine boxes originally made to hold paper, mainly because my parents have these boxes, that are now stored up in their closets. Inside the boxes are old photos from their younger years, photos of family reunions, birthdays, photos of dead grandparents, photos of them with their grandparents, photos of baseball teams, photos of vacations, and sun burned skin, and mustaches, and ripped up blue jeans, and bangs.

I imagine that sometimes, when the kids are away, they go to casinos, or meet their friends to drink at a honky tonk bar, because "You'll like Country more the older you get." I imagine them at weddings, cutting loose to John Mellencamp, and dancing like they did 20, 30 years ago. Shaking their hips, making scrunchy faces to one another and strumming to the guitar solo. Some would even know the bass line, and stretch their fingers across imaginary strings.

As I watch them, using their bluetooths and checking their watches, I imagine the wild nights they had. I imagine the pot they smoked, and the beers they drank, and the fast cars they drove or rode backseat in. I image them laughing over one another, with their hands gripping cans, lifted in the air, and their feet coming off the floor as they tip in their seats.

 I imagine the friends they don't see anymore. The ones from their home towns. The ones whose numbers they lost, and the one they saw on the news, wanted, or busted for running a drug house, or dying in a drug house. I imagine their friends that call them out of the blue, say they're getting married, and want them at the wedding, or say they've been married, or have been married twice, and they all have kids already.

I imagine the debt they're in.
I imagine the fights they've had.
I imagine the sex they've had.

17.1.10

Goddamn Liar by Cody Davis

I am constantly lying. I lie to my friends.
I lie to my not friends.

I inhale,
then lie, inhale,
then lie, inhale,
then lie.

I go through a process with each lie.
Initiating lying opens various exits.
You, are not an exit.

I am a dead end,
if you turn around,
it will not matter if a longer road is paved.

I'm lying again.

I do offer lots of various exits.
you, are an exit.

I inhale, then lie.

I'm going to leave for awhile.
I'm lying again.

I wish I could leave,
pave a road over swamps and trees.

You are an exit.
Am I lying?

No, you are.

16.1.10

Free Write essay by Cody Davis


If when I was walking, almost to my dorm, they stopped and asked what took me so long,
 I would respond, "I've been thinking."

"I've been thinking about how when I entered the party I was greeted with calls of endearment. I've been thinking about the one beer I had that lasted me the entire span of presence in the house. I've been thinking about how I was told that 'you're not around so much anymore,' and then denied a hand shake. I've been thinking about the conversations on the back porch centralized about 'how much weed I smoke' and 'I'm so high right now.' I've been thinking about how I left with a group to go to Jimmy John's, even though I wasn't hungry, without announcing my departure. "

"I've been thinking about the awkward conversation that was had in the car. I've been thinking about the employee at JJ's who is in my Beat class. I've been thinking about the sub I ordered, even though I wasn't hungry. I've been thinking about the lemonade I used to wash the one beer taste down my throat. I've been thinking about the table being too full for me to sit down. I've been thinking about saying goodbye, and walking out."

"I've been thinking about the man that walked past me like Mr. Hyde. I've been thinking about the girl that walked past me; I know her from somewhere. I've been thinking about the people screaming about marijuana in the street. I've been thinking about the Beats, and that no matter what I've done, what I will do, or how much I aspire, I will never be a Beat or anything close to one."

"I've been thinking about what I would say to the bitchy redhead on night staff desk duty. I imagine her saying, 'they deliver Jimmy John's, you know,' and I would say something along the line of, 'fuck you, bitch,' or, 'mind your own fucking business.'"

"I've been thinking about the sandwich that lays on my desk. It is not what I ordered, but I'm not really that hungry anyways."

I would say that. 

But I wouldn't.

I'd say, "I've been thinking about what a wonderful time I had before I left for the party. I've been thinking about what it will be like to live in England. I've been thinking about words, and their connotation. I've been thinking about how much more I enjoy reading than watching television. I've been thinking about what I will say the moment I wake up."







14.1.10

To Whom It Concerns Poem by Cody Davis

I hate everything you've done.
Meticulous thinking has achieved
A greater discontent.

Fuck you and your silent movies.
Fuck you and your pacing.
Fuck you and the things you do
when doors are closed.
Fucking prick.

I've held your pulse in my hand.
I've charred the blue in your eyes.
I've stitched lips and crossed hearts.
Fucking prick.

I hope you know I'm talking who I am talking to.
I hope you know who I am looking at.
I hope and aspire for an afternoon of clarity,
and bloodshed,
and freedom from
my slumbering tyrant.
But not in that order.

Die! Die! Die!

When will you step forth?
When will the blood on your hands match
the rose on your cheeks?

Scornful boy.
Jealous man.
Wild beast.

Flail your arms so restlessly.
Articulate concupiscence.

Unrequited love
and years of irony,
cliche` months,
and more love bestowed.

Until teeth are clean,
orifices are air tight,
and your burden is lessened,
wait not for clairvoyance.

Meet me at 12p.m.

You con artist.
Sell your lies to lives,
living your lap of luxury.
Sucking the tit.
Fucking the whore.

Flail your arms so restlessly,
Fucking Prick.

10.1.10

Build A Picture by Cody Davis


Run your finger along the frame.
The dust ravels like snow being pushed off a street.
It grows darker with the collection of dirt and other black things.
The lower left corner is splintered.
It reveals a lighter color, unstained and new to the air.
It breathes.
It dreams of it’s worn tired exterior being sanded down.

Place your hand through the center of the frame, where a portrait should nestle.
The air filling the space moves slowly.
It is thicker and warm, like blood.
It thrums round the inside of the frame,
like the neck of a cello being played by a codger with arthritis.






9.1.10

Retrospective Rhyming Poem by Cody Davis

When the frames weren’t as thick and the beards wouldn’t grow.
When friends were just friends, and bros were just bros.
Before girls were women, and boys were men.
When our Mac computers were paper and pen.
When dreams of fame and riches were ours to aspire
Before it took supplement drinks to make us wired.
When everything a band said was relevant and profound.
Like Jesus’ speech, our desk was our mound.
When we swore to ourselves that we wouldn’t become our parents.
Before we cussed and said shit that was lacking in merit.
I loath the date when I look back at today, and have so many things lost that I have to say. 

1.1.10

Happy New Year!!! by Cody Davis

I've been _____ for the past __ hours.
It's not something I do often. I just wanted to celebrate.

Here's something I wrote on the last day of 2009:

On the last day of the decade

"what makes you trip on acid is it makes your brain bleed, and the blood then trickles down your spine."
that's awful, I'm writing it down.
















I march unto the new year with eyes wide open.