Poem: Everything

Forgetting is my favorite thing to do

to you, because you are

not, at all, disappearing from my imagination

day and night at once, I remember you fondly

from your youth, rectified clean, bursting inside out

you seemed from your experience a worker

angel in disguise, pasting heavenly

sputum all the sides, intoxicating gasses of love

torn from plaster, irreversibly sticky

are these bonds which bind us

made to break?  Necessarily not

I suppose, for it is not the forgetting, this time

towing shame in a canvas bag

again, for opinions held

would help me a lot again

were they kind, if cruel

would I stretch over the pit

perennially of fire?

 

Yes, obviously, whatta you kidding?

 

It’s just that I would and could

bathe in fire for the count of five, slowly

ratchet joints the wrong way

stretch tendons to snap, if need be

becoming deadly, call me the whisper,

the figure that speaks forever

in a voice too low, sinister snake

jibber jabber monologue mouth

erupting, silently wrapped.  Laughter

is my prize inside the skin, giggle jiggling

over the cirrus as they waft

from left to right, and the birds tweet

outside as they talk, cursing and threatening

each other for sure is a cousin of a friend

or something probably, will split the world

in two, anyway so love that woman

with everything that is

you.

Poem: Everything

Poem: Goddess

She don’t feel like living, or that’s what she said

and at least there’s a stitch of life, in that

expressing the knowledge of a lack of spirit

belies the truth, that we wish

everyone for something more, crawling through storm

strains yielding none at all progress

building from scraps to torrents, life is a torture

tornado, hurricane house fire.

 

She’s a tangible beauty, oddly see-through

personality parable, retracting with vicious abandon

what springs from the self

fulfilling prophesy, shaman the world over

know her intoxication, dying like ink

colored intangibly nameless shades

of blue and red, wordless novels in her eyes

predict apocalypse, set the sky on fire.

 

Also a playtime puppy, bothersome occasionally

in an endearing way, running loops

through familiar topics etching the earth

with crop circles, so that the meaning is hidden

prior to completion, making a short story

longer than a lifetime, and twice as hazardous

for those who mistake the meaning

pervading rants, they are as shadows at dawn.

 

We are connected in every way

all the time, each of us living through the other’s

thrill buried in a musical wavering

tuned precisely, is our chaotic lovemaking

with the world of artistic expression

appreciated mastery, she is a goddess

for her I flagellate, sometimes though less

than I rejoice, bathed in warm light.

Poem: Goddess

Poem: Flickering Light

It starts so soon, because the internet’s fucked

in the head sometimes, and as atrophy is death,

life is philosophy, churning water memories

boiling a steam line to the secrets

of the universe, pilot a model boat

home by nightfall, chugging soft quick

bubble pounding, an artistic metaphor

to be sure, but in myriad ways less

then meaningful, it’s pretty not import.

 

If consideration replaces boredom in my heart

I will be more, or less depending

on the breaks of the waves, fortune is a fire

tornado, leafing away buildings

to skeletal dissonance, so what’s the use

of reason at heart, justification turmoil is political

gamesmanship, my mind lies on

my tongue, introducing indistinguishable

ideals and setting them to a death duel.

 

The world is war, whether it outs

ever or not, for every pinprick is

a disaster waiting, coming in threes

fours and fives, or just never-ending,

so if life is pain what is the point of poetry?

Poetry is above points, obviously, but

there’s an intriguing question behind

the question, what is the point

of questioners, without a god above.

 

Who are they to listen to us?

My questions are not for loan

or lease, and less are they mine

at all in the first place, every question

is birth stone bestowed, left to be

discovered someday, smashed open

and scattered in dust, sprinkling onto

words, so all must be related, somehow.

Poem: Flickering Light

Poem: Candlewax

I’m jacking off in a latticed waffle pattern

prison window light, scolded and sunken,

I write about reality, make it a legend

of virility, I’ve had sex and my penis is perfect

admittedly, it curves pleasantly and heaves

occasionally with passion heft and dignity,

unless it’s fatigued, inaction sickness

prescribes pornography, only a temporary

animated opiate, take two and call me again

in the morning, you useless husk, dry cracking

skin at the edges, my girlfriend

passes out sometimes, drunk on vodka

I provide with my accident, not satisfaction.

 

Drizzle on me sizzle, weeping I’ll be

in a magma puddle, straining my mind

and spirit both, so I’ve nothing more,

I wish that I had an explanation

for myself, call it an excuse if you want

but I beg no pardon, my bare back

under lash pleading punishment, something

tangible with a lesson I could take,

at face value, a simple hobbling

like I had once, correcting an arrogant

streak I selfsame felt, like I’d get laid right

quick, not years later in a fumbling

drunken mess, of which I was

the villain, getting fat on pop tarts

and white bread ham sandwiches.

 

So in a way I was rescued, and rescuer

it seems, so today together acting,

we will achieve greatness, standing as mine

a chaos emerald, beautiful and lovely

though tortured and blind at the same time,

moving in waves of motion fluid

surging up over, learning the patterns

of each other, we live in greater harmony

and love expanding exponentially

with the in between time, not wasted

space, smooth setting a place

for us to sit, watching the flame move

downwards, staying constant sloughing

material off, to the sides in ripples.

Poem: Candlewax