Poem: Inscrutable Wisdom

Dream of having nothing at all, and think

what you’d be, fossilized snot bubble, skipping light

curmudgeon complaining, casting darts on the lawn in formation

spelling “THAT’S IT” or “THIS IS IT” just to fuck with people

in the morning

on their day off, they can’t read it

at first as they haven’t the angle, it takes time

to understand the meaning

of a disappointing slime leaking, it’s nothing

at all dummy, this is nothing just like everything.

 

But people loved it, they went crazy

chanting intricately in column formations

and shit, assuming it’s a warning, filling a hole

with wishes written down and set

aflame, until a pit of ashes in its place

raked by an elderly Chinese man

wondering what the words had meant

becomes the sole symbol, showing that shadow

obscures nothing of note, and mystery is wanting

not finding a solution, the search itself is.

Poem: Inscrutable Wisdom

Poem: History

Scribbled secret notebook pages, hastily hunt and pecked, hen by Demon

Shakespeare Rattle brand cough syrup, a writer in reposing horror, eyes wide

open, Hemingway’s it all the way home man, like lynching a bar fly

for no good reason, film forms on my lips, being expelled for smoking

in the teacher’s lounge, manifesting my O’s and Q’s, as well as the twenty

four more, to craft a meaning for living and dying, by the billions

if the wind breaks right, humanity will happen, but now it’s too late

to save us, from ourselves we must escape, defending old minds

from the horror of now, of what we’ve done, is the only way to make sure

that they suffer too, which is only fair, capitulating the vibrations.

Poem: History

All the world

there is nothing, and nothing ever matters,
because your brain is nothing but sparks and dials and levers
going haywire on a loop
over and over, but what about beauty?                                                                                                        
Shaolin vs. Wu-Tang is a story about friendship
where the two styles merge, choreography superior
fetishistic circus of movement, kung fu inferno
never translated with a meaning, iron eyepatch
villainy inherent, there is always more.                                                                                            
Nothing and more there is always there, behind
all time and space, depending on how you look
through one eye alone, see vapors evaporate
into joyful progress, every day a new door
made of candy, stars bursting chewable
red and blue and purple, but probably not.                                                                                      
That would be madness, panoramic obsessive
without paranoia, you’d be locked up
believing that, there never was tomorrow
in the first place, because all of us can feel
that we are the same, marrow and saliva
leaking out the folds, memories of pain becoming.                                                                               
Shadows receding slowly, clearing your head
of detritus, nothing is ever at all
without a passion, stories die as reborn
becoming all places, characters and statements
at the same time popping a brain out your eyes.                                                                                     
Love is in everything, forever onward
omnipresent dreadfully looming
horrors of the dawn dusk in between and end,
search for a kernel of joy, that’s all there is
when it comes down to it.
All the world