tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2081331779912333732024-02-08T05:06:04.547-08:00C'est La VieA simple attempt to become an artist and express moments of truth and life with the language of the soul guided by senses and a flirtatious muse.Evan T. Chavezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169841001239285noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-208133177991233373.post-46838814848957426142010-04-08T12:36:00.001-07:002010-04-08T12:42:17.792-07:00Tony's Rough LifeBoy, did Tony seem to have a rough lifeJust throbbing temples stabbed with a knifeAll day long (more like from 9 to 5).From monotony in order to survive,He turned to the bottle in a barTo retrace in woe each nostalgic scar"Why go home if all she'll do is nag?She don't fuck me an' her tits sag."He sighed and swigged and gulped for pityThen drove with windows down through the cityHe cursed and spitEvan T. Chavezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169841001239285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-208133177991233373.post-10543220112769422552010-04-08T12:26:00.000-07:002010-04-08T12:30:05.707-07:00ExhibitionMaybe if I'm lucky, I'll wrestle with the gods on Olympus risking my limbs and sanity to steal for a brief moment something like Prometheus' fire to mark my canvass so a passerby might look for a few seconds and say, "Interesting," while I, with my new friend on the mountain top, wait for the crows.Evan T. Chavezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169841001239285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-208133177991233373.post-88242164143734823282010-04-07T22:32:00.001-07:002010-04-07T22:32:47.273-07:00L.A. HealthcareI need a smoke. I don’t carry any on me, trying to quit and all. God, I know it’s not a great habit, especially when you have two kids, but right now I just need one. Nerves and all. It’s important to start at the beginning of this whole mess. The beginning doesn’t happen at the hospital. That’s where everyone thinks it starts, and that’s why they all think I’m some evil person. It’s not fair. Evan T. Chavezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169841001239285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-208133177991233373.post-25233372882971064582010-04-07T21:54:00.000-07:002010-04-07T21:56:59.156-07:00English TeacherI am the change I wish to see in the world.God-like and wretched, nothing so splendidin this sordid amalgamation of tropes and lost souls. Use my shoulders as a perchfor a short time or a long while,and I'll listen to you cry.You're is you are,Your implies possession.Evan T. Chavezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169841001239285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-208133177991233373.post-56662205174681137002010-04-07T21:50:00.000-07:002010-04-07T21:52:57.717-07:00My anti-poemTypes I have: Hope, hope, HOPE, "hope?" (hope), nope, H-O-P-EWhat you give me: H_PE I want an O!Evan T. Chavezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169841001239285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-208133177991233373.post-55162809587497068682010-04-07T21:44:00.000-07:002010-04-07T21:45:44.485-07:00On the Freeway OverpassOn the freeway overpass the sign said,CHILD ABDUCTION 98 MERCURY SABREI don't know what that car looks likeI'm running lateI hope Janice brought doughnuts today.Evan T. Chavezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169841001239285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-208133177991233373.post-14872769366217382842010-04-07T21:41:00.000-07:002010-04-07T21:43:19.218-07:00DefenselessEnchanted, swooned in danceThe Matadores married the Bull.They move to the rhythm setBy his gravel-shaking hooves andThe graceful tap taps of her feet.Urged by playful lust, he charges.She sways and plays and smiles.Through her crimson lips tongues slip.The dance rushes, she blushes,The Bull’s drive stays relentlessBeastly nature cannot hide.Thwarted violence resurgesTilting horns of brutal Evan T. Chavezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169841001239285noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-208133177991233373.post-70371319065720029542010-04-07T21:26:00.000-07:002010-04-07T21:39:41.578-07:00The ProcessA man or woman vomits on the floor. This is the process of the writer: the chunky bloody mess strewn about. Yes, it comes from the author and the general direction is determined, but the pattern takes form from physics. It can be changed if someone wants to get his or her hands dirty. The process, oh the process, often arises at times inopportune to be purged. Drunk, sick, or gluttoned with Idea,Evan T. Chavezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09389169841001239285noreply@blogger.com0