Poem: Down Low

Delicious, lovely happenings abound

around the area floating, if you look for them

in your imagination

that is, they reside on the slide

in the pride of losers clinging to each other

while the world changes behind their backs, again

just like before when it happened

to their fathers, grandfathers buddies cousins

boss’s bro’s and bandits, all of us a link

in a chain that knows nothing connects

really, which is sad

but only kind of, honestly.

 

Because Flavor is important, in all places

at once, preference being a fact of life

we express our spirits through, what we enjoy

is like a fingerprint, and could we catalog the world

in this way, as if compiling examples, or would our spirits be

like sand in water, or pliable

like Play-Doh fresh, and I think maybe all

simultaneously, meaning you could create

databases of libraries, so I guess it’s no use

considering impossibilities, but a sense is created

by what you’re a fan of, I guess.

 

All this is important because I am sickened

by what you people like, and this gives me comfort

unbelievably massive, cloaking all of us in a shadow

of spiteful noncompliance, is the consistent popularity

of 2 Broke Girls an eternal question

or just a fact, that most people are braying

assholes who think it’s funny to embarrass ugly people

in front of the others, which it often is

but still, you don’t wanna broadcast that shit

homie, gotta keep the devil

on the DL in more ways than one.

Poem: Down Low

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