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May. 22nd, 2012 @ 01:11 pm Putting The 'Celibate' In 'Celebration'
The History Of My Heart


Sitting in the cafe
I'm drinking water
and coffee and wine.

A gaggle of dolled-up
virginal girls flutters around
a table next to mine.

Their presence pervades me
like a pudding
made of air.

My mind turns to the girls
that I've known since High School
who now are getting married.

I take a drink
of coffee;
I take a drink of wine.

I'll treasure always
the greasy indelible
smudges

left by women
on the glassy
history of my heart.
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
May. 9th, 2012 @ 09:57 am A Little, Round, Brown Sea
Tags:
To Coffee, Upon Returning


You are there in the morning
like a father with a fishing pole
and a pile of green gear

strapped to the top of a station wagon
whose motor is running.
You call the electric branches in my head

to attention
and get them to march like they're supposed to.
You are a cup whose handle

gives a high five
and whose mouth
gives CPR.

You are a beautiful black bitch.
And the best part is
we spank each other.
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
Oct. 18th, 2011 @ 03:39 am Strangers In Familiar Bodies
Tags:
Seeing Again's Remembering


Walking on wet sidewalk
I recall the love we had.

My memories are long and still;
they are a mist that stings.

It must be like remembering
when done by those in the next world

stepping on golden sidewalks
and thinking back on life.

It must be what a heaven's like,
when followed by deeper heaven.




--Nick Moore
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The Poet Nicholas Moore
Sep. 7th, 2011 @ 01:05 am Night Is For Actors
Tags:
The Audience And God


The artist said
to the audience,

"Please get out
of the way.

"This is between
myself and God."

And the audience
stayed

but they
were more delighted.




The Clock Tower


The moon's a clock tower
sans numbers and arms.

Its face needs no bricks
to hold it aloft.

It tells
a deeper time.




Nick Moore
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The Poet Nicholas Moore
Jul. 30th, 2011 @ 05:43 am I've Had The Meth Of Life, But Now I'll Have The Best Of Life!
Barack O'Tom-a Voters!

It is I, the Tommy Gun.



I've decided to write to you all, as I recently found the password to my livejournal (it was tattooed on a neighbor's missing child), and also I just remembered what a computer is. I was so happy I cried. But, to be fair, at the time, I was receiving a very bromantic hug from Dr. Drew.

Things are going well for the Size King: I've been sober now since last year, and, according to IMDB, I appear to be doing a lot of things. Unfortunately, my lawyer Charlie Sheen hasn't returned my calls in a while, but occasionally he will drive by my house, shooting six-guns, the trunk of his car hemorrhaging Xango and women's underwear.

My agent (the actor Nicholas Cage) tells me that I just got a gig on television's Hawaii Five-O! Which is exciting both because it's work, and also because I will be traveling through time, to the era in which that show was actually on. I've never seen the show, but I'm pretty sure it's set in Florida. "Book 'em, Don Johnson!"

Oh, and the Poet Nick Moore was recently interviewed on a talk and music show in Bloomington, Indiana. Listen below! I hear he is sober now too. But he is reported to be out of his mind on homelessness, gluttony, and rampant "petting" of "the penguin".

Enjoy.

--Tom
About this Entry
army hat
Jun. 11th, 2011 @ 01:46 am The Same New Thing
Tags:
The Star Of My Memory


Love,
I miss you and I feel
I'm disappearing.

I don't so much mind losing myself
but I mind losing you, a lot, as you
were always so sweet, with such wet eyes

and you walked with me through the night
like we were the only two people
left in the cold world in Chicago.

Love, the world is a bobble
glinting on a sunny beach.
And nobody knows what it means.

But once you were with me there
and we shrugged at it together
and knew that it was exactly right

and endlessly unknown.
Then we would go back to the hotel
and kiss like a laughing field trip.




Nick Moore
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The Poet Nicholas Moore
May. 27th, 2011 @ 02:51 am Teresa Western DeLay (1979-2007)
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The Poet Nicholas Moore
May. 13th, 2011 @ 04:54 am This Town Is A Naked Female English Professor
Tags:
The Angel In The Graveyard


The angel in the graveyard
held a shadowy pink rose.
I said, "Sir, since it's Spring,

why do you suppose
that I newly find an older sin
every time I remove my clothes?

"And why is each new sin
more fundamental
than the one I was just forgiven of?

"And why when I am leaving sin,
Does it feel like I'm leaving love?"
The angel stood in the night and steam

and smiled like a wife.
He said, "It's no big reason;
it's just the meaning of life."




--Nick Moore
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The Poet Nicholas Moore
May. 7th, 2011 @ 11:27 pm The Sidewalk Is A Lantern
Tags:
Tonight


My heart is a burned-out ambulance
that I drag behind me: a dead dog
on a chain.

This town is a million pointing fingers
that surround and follow me:
hovering shards of broken glass.

I fight a super villain;
his name is four ay-em;
he always almost beats me.

I was a naked point of view
who had no qualities or body
until it went undercover as me.

You see
God needed poems
about heartbreak.




--Nick Moore
About this Entry
The Poet Nicholas Moore
Apr. 20th, 2011 @ 11:10 pm Emotional Breakdowns Are The New Doin' It
Tags:
Pornography


While looking at the naked young woman
on the computer screen I'm thinking
of the last time that I broke somebody's heart

by saying the word "Goodbye".
My hand used to hold my girlfriend's hand
when the night air bristled like a kiss.

Now my hand holds my other hand
in the darkness of my bedroom
where it chills me like a grave

and I pray to God to send me the strength
to go on being without you.
Romance to me has become a conversation

between me and a woman that I once used
buses and cars and elevated trains to find
and hold and love

only to leave her forever on a sidewalk by a church.
Never ever has some strange girl's pubic hair
seemed so deeply irrelevant.




--Nick Moore (4-20-2011)
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The Poet Nicholas Moore