Poetry

Circle of Squares

When You Know That You Should Go

(Greed in the Backseat)

Descent is a Warm Welcome

Stunned by Eternity

I wish the world was less horrible

I’d lose a little time for you

Signed For with Listless Passion

Indignant Results

Bigger than the Beginning


Attention Grabbers

Congruent Edges

Wrongly Accused of Being a Misogynist

Complete and Moral Awakening

Sad Raccoon Eyes

Genius Masked by Makeup

How Often Do You Get it all Wrong

(and how long does it take you to realize it)

Keep Counting Your Wrongs and someday you’ll be Right

Controlled by your meta-physical substance

My Divine Order

Like an Obligation)

When Poetry Runs for a Glide

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16 in the afternoon. The wind, still it stood, trying to suppress its laughter. The people watched. Waiting for the outcome. Benign scrutinies were passed around like hotcakes. Axed egos lay around bleeding on the floor. An unfettered trail of smoke rose towards the heavens, proud to be freed from the confines of that bleached white, gunpowder ringed tube, whose ass was smudged with lipstick.

When the sun finally set, everybody’s vision was immediately clear: she was just a snub, waiting to happen.

That’s all she ever was.

Then the people went home, shaking their heads. The wind resumed its modern torture.

Fornication Under Consent of the Queen

Can you insinuate that which is absolute?

Or can you only put fickle words to these happenings,

Letting the symphony batter on with its savoury sweet inaptitude on worldly skills.

Naivety is only the intelligence that others envy [sic];

They are marvellously unremitted symptoms of raw entrapment.

Our kind words have been kept a secret for some time.

Then we fall back into several pits worth of shit and darkness.

And worried only when the fire turns to embers.

And carnivorous only once the meat is cooked.

Only barbarian tendencies happen when society turns on you.

Or hearing the whip snap on your back, as opposed to feeling it.

Some gregarious chant from a long time ago far away has struck and soothes my old soul.

Peanut Love

My emotions have been looted, have vanished.

If you remove a letter from a dictionary word imagine all the ink you’ll save

as time masturbates on and on.

Crumbles resembling tears that can’t find each other to form a puddle;

Stuck alone till they find their common traits…

Which ain’t gonna happen since each one falls for its own reason.

Londoners…

Used to be me

Now I’ve rematerialized.

Necessary De-feat

Pickled defeat in the wake of fallen star.

Unwarm welcomes cumming in my ear.

Resonating insofar as the beast is near.

Sweet relish overtakes the taste of burnt befar

(Or after).

Embellish these retreats,

Please,

As necessary defeat.

Eh Bee -Cy?

One slip of the thumb,

Two outrageous outcums:

Three strikes and you’re out,

Or,

For the wicked man’s plea,

Connive five lax ways to get off.


Read while eating an orange an old yellowed paper about the salad days when we were green with youth and feeling blue I packed a nice nug of purple and smoked it black.


Cowering when you couldn’t cut your own losses, eh?

So now you’re back at the bar trying to get a bump like honey to a bee.

Too bad they’re gone, they’re gone. What do you know about necromancy?

And what do I know?

1, 2, 3?

The imaginary color spectrum?

A, B, C? I’m dead.

Spin a While

Not visiting those chach brokers while the sun is up, shield,

(use it n cruz it bugga)

Met em in the back room with a hitta eye poppin bourbon, pistols out,

Old green wisdom. Spin a while.

Things ha’nt been vivd in so long.

Vivd, purific sin.

Bad jeans, putrid chonies, broken, back, low battery.

Vile liquid sitting on a fattie, one a hot fat sunny day.

EPHIPHANY

YOUR ARDOR IS FUTILE.

SEQUESTER YOUR SOCIETY.

I HEARD IT ONCE AT THE NILE.

COME BACK TO ME CENTIPEDE.

Death Cleaning

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I’m happy there are laws,

    I’m sick of all this crime.

They keep me out of trouble,

    Keep me worried all the time.

Sick of all these happy people,

    Huddled around their dinner table.

Blood rushes in my temple,

    Can hardly eat speak or pray.

 

Sodden side roads with speed radars.

     Swell flowing undertaken down up-river.

Without laws there’d be no survivors,

     There’d be no ceiling fans,

Or surveillance cameras.

 

Without law there is art.

Without art there is law.

Suck My Caramel

Don’t waste energy trying not

To waste energy on

Things that make good good bad and

Bad borax to blame for lost beef or

Lifting weights that don’t fall or

Walking on cobblestone like a savage with a

Without electric motor bike here to stay

Going faster than a lagom piece of beachwood

Floating by tradewind kicked around by Loki or

That fucker Aegir


Tried hopping around the forest

Communicating with reindeer but

They gave me the cold shoulder so

Try drinking a good shitty beer and

Kicking yourself in the chin and

Sucking my caramel or

Smoking it but

Best check your sources when

Checking suicide rates.

River Madness

Death is only one moment.

Death is prelude to nothing.

Death eradicates pain and pleasure.

Death is awareness.

Where to float with no physical conscience than

Down River Madness?

With not much conscious?

Is that without saying?

Enamored moment, shrouded time.

Clear as snowmelt vodka, so mighty elated.

So secure.

Yet flashes of doldrum like I’m one of them.

One of many fickle co-partners.

Like they can’t help it.

Like I can’t help it.

Scrubbing away at sexy emaciated time.

I seriously doubt the flashes but they are there.

Bullshit pursuants and ideological nightmares.

Can I wahoo myself to death?

Why not.

I’ll always have that.

The ever being paved flowing road of rocks and chains and gremlins.

I don’t want to sell myself short, so I pass unto thee a passing of passing.

Death, mind thee.

And a thanks for the effigy.

Teary and All Starry Eyed

Apologetic and wept upon.

Should that be the way to stir things up.

Well within the jarred column

Jabbed in the middle of the arch;

Hey, and wow,

Little known compromise,

But it’s now a structure with incongruent edges.

Was once one with more favorable geometry:

It was a circle (much better than a square)...

Now it’s a heaping pile of bricks and skeletons

(The myopic means to intelligence) -

With daddy on top

And an insatiable explanation for the havoc.

Xenodigm

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So much fear from the outside that the turmoil came from within.

Insipid taste and mild decency finally conclude..

You are rushin', descendin'. Pretendin' there’s no time to win.

Left only with a smattering of the jive that killed you.

-Excerpt from A Book About My Mother