Posted in Poem, Poetry

420 

420 is the stoner
holiday for most
who enjoy bong hits
Pepsi and pizza delivery

For others it’s the day
that spawned a monster
or a malicious school
shooting by those
who refused to take
what they were offered

It’s a day of remembrance
it’s a day to forget
for me its one
of the most memorable
days of the year

So for someone
with a bad memory
and contempt
for cliches
I thought the day
after would be
an ideal date
for a loving
anniversary

© Michael Marrotti

This poem was orignally published by Section 8 Magazine.

Posted in Poem, Poetry

Cancellation Of The Blues

Death is imminent
try if you will
to elude your fate
there’s no escape
I wanna watch
you die

I’m counting
down
the days
awaiting
those final hours
without you
there wound be
no loss

White roses
would sprout
from the filth
of the city streets

Guitars
would always
play in tune
for a society
living in harmony

Cures would be
readily available
to those
who gave back

People would smile
when the scum
of the earth
withered away
and died
a painful death

An eradication
of grief
a cancellation
of the blues

People die
every
day of the week
it’s a shame
you’re
not one of them

For without you
there’d be
nothing
left to lose

© Michael Marrotti

Posted in Poem, Poetry

Agoraphobic Media 

Remove the banality
of people’s lives
along with their
pretentious proclivities
and Facebook
would be faceless

Forbid the use
of nipples and ass
which supersede
the use of words
and Twitter
wouldn’t tweet

Prohibit the need
to connect with others
through the sound
of music and Google+
would fall on deaf ears

Eradicate all
social media options
and the general public
would be forced
to get off the couch
in the comfort
of their own awkward world
put on a pair of pants
take a breath of fresh air
and engage in a real life
face to face conversation

No more carpal tunnel
no more tough guys
with delicate fingers
pushing keys
as they attempt
to make a fascist point
no more artificial
profile pictures

Nothing but authenticity
apprehension and Xanax
by the dozen
for a generation
obsessed with seclusion
and a life that’s all about them

© Michael Marrotti

Posted in Poem, Poetry

Morbid Orgasms

Slit wrists
and naked bodies
prancing around
the cemetery
illuminated
by the moonlight

Swapping fluids
stimulation
the dead are jealous
of our warm fingers

Caressing flesh
pinching nipples
my erection expands
hard like a tombstone

Back for seconds
as we partake
in this easy sex
to contradict
how hard it can be
in these hard times

The will is free
in an expensive economy
we will persist
no matter how costly

Morbid orgasms
obituary monologue
emptying ourselves
on this infertile ground

Money shots
of the soon to be
fucking dead
cut it or fuck it
we’re up all night
expelling the hurt

The departed they rest
nodding off
next to the dead
dreaming of death
waking up
to appreciate life

The sun shall rise
our eyes they blink
minds will ponder
will we rest in peace

©Michael Marrotti