the louderARTS Project

Adam Stone

Adam Stone is the Clark Kent to the gay blogger world's Insafemode ( www.insafemode.livejournal.com ).  A veteran of the spoken word/slam scene in New England, Adam veered away from poetry for a couple of years to start journaling about his occasionally sordid lust life as a single, out gay man with questionable standards.  Adam was Cape Cod's Spoken Word Poet laureate from 2000-2007, and was the longest reigning Champion of Champions at The Cantab Lounge in Cambridge.  He's been a member of nine slam teams representing Cape Cod, Boston Cantab, Boston Lizard Lounge, and the People's Republic of Vermont.  He's also the 2005 Boston Haiku Champion, and has represented The Boston Lizard Lounge at the Individual World Poetry Slam.  As a member of the Poetry Is Gay Slam Team in 2003, he got his gay ass whooped by Amazon Slam Team.  He's waiting for a rematch.


www.insafemode.livejournal.com

Reggaeton Concerto For Piano (second movement)

Your last pack of cigarettes, a pair of pants,
the mix CD I made that you never listened to, me.
These are the things you left behind.
I didn't have much use for anything except
the mix CD.  I made that.

                                      You never listened to me.
Steady rain of you aren't here,  shhhhhh, and reasons
I didn't have much use for.  Anything except
our bodies seemed superfluous as a
steady rain of (you aren't here) shhhhhh.  And reasons
pound reggaeton echoes over
our bodies.  Seemed superfluous.

                                                    As a
lover, I never delved in magic.  Illusions
pound reggaeton, echoes over
I forgive you.  You should have stayed,
lover.  I never delved in magic illusions.

You took flight.  I wanted to hear you say
I forgive you. You should have.

                                               Staid
scars on eyelids, flutter heart
you took.  Flight I wanted to hear you say
is for the birds.  Your body was perfect to leave
scars on.  Eyelids flutter.  Heart
is metaphor for something.  I just don't know what it
is for.

            The birds?

                            Your body was perfect.  To leave,
too easy.  To stay, too easy.  To decide....

Is metaphor for something?  I just don't know.  What it
brings to our us is a doorway pause
too easy to stay.  Too easy to decide
we are Rorschach.  Heart pumps fist or daffodil, does it matter what it
brings to our us?

                         A doorway paws
at a kitten.  Your eyes never leave the back of your head.
We are Rorschach heart, pumps, fist, or daffodil.  Does it matter?

                                                                                               What it
comes down to is traffic lights blinking orange
at a kitten (your eyes).  Never leave.  The back of your head
feels like maudlin.  Rice
comes down too.  Is traffic lights blinking orange
you aren't here enough?  This
feels like maudlin rice.

I think our song is on repeat.  Arguments over whether
you aren't here enough.  This
tangible gravity of

                            shhhhhh,
I think our song is on. 

                                  Repeat arguments over weather
until laughter breaks the caution tape of your lips.
Tangible gravity of shhhhhh
not enough to disturb the orbit of crossed eyes
until laughter breaks.  The caution tape of your lips
press closer. 
Not enough to disturb the orbit of crossed eyes,
your last pack of cigarettes, a pair of pants.
Press closer,
these are the things you left behind.



©Adam Stone



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