Poem:New Day

To hear summer morning crack

open a storm, joyfully dawning

the new day with symbols mystifying

the senses, interested, like a regard

for the shapeless beauty

of everything, and it’s great, but he still he’s the president

for a long fucking time, not that long

really, but long enough

for me, certainly, Jesus Christ

can you fucking believe it, yes I can

you asshole, because what the fuck

does making sense matter?  And what the fuck

who cares if I’m not

creative with my word choices, it’s completely believable

inevitable and pointless, it’s the imagination that matters

to you, like when you were little.

 

Not that little, in the fancy rich park

with the shapes and colors, when we finally abandoned

the conceit, saying “okay, we’re wizards,”

me and my loser friends, agreeing that beforehand,

I’m a lightning or storm wizard

who lives in the swamp talking to everything

alive, like the fatalist

in those stories you wrote, where he was born

on a rope in the storm, which was the world

for us, I want to go back

inspecting the rubble, real horrorshow.

 

Me and my buddies, standing in a crowd

jaws hanging loose at the sight of the bombs

dropping, all silent subtext is not

in between the lines, wear it as a hat

folded newspaper scraps, make a fire in a trash can

for fun, write with blood

a manifesto, a goodbye speech

for the penitent, seeing the future

written in lipstick on a naked dead body,

just the word sorry, we didn’t know

it is floating away, forever.

Poem:New Day

Poem: Election Day

Clear we are like like the sound

of singeing blades, through the tapestry

of life’s rich and poor, all are victims

all of us, simply, though there can be others

undoubtedly, steady philosophically, probably

reasonable, but who could tell with Ayn Rand

rousting people, because she grew

in extremes of injustice and horror, which arose because people know

their place, in the scheme of things

considered in wartime, but then they rejoice in joining

humanity’s final war, to join the elite.

 

The end of the world will not be supernatural,

it will take decades

beginning tonight, maybe.

 

Que sera sera, as they say

Poem: Election Day

Poem: Downtown, No Cement 3

It’s okay, everybody calm down

and settle with us, debts of gratitude

admiration and teamwork, we shall

logically arrange the fragments

of what once was, mortal shadows

portraying positivity and willing

blindness, once through the tunnel

work will begin, hopefully our leader

pointing us true, with held noses

trudging through sludge is the way

to make change, coin flip funding

the path, hopefully to loving victory

Poem: Downtown, No Cement 3

Poem: Downtown, No Cement

“woo” my head shouts like my voice

would be, maybe not, delicate customs

in intricate intentions, I’ll stay

silent for now, mirroring the harbinger

cackling under bloody sky, dig a hole

swallowing a protein pill that tastes just

like ass, the alternative though,

racing all around wallpapering

blueprints of a shelter, because perhaps

the beast is born, and we are in trouble

Poem: Downtown, No Cement

Poem: Coin Toss

Vague histrionic pronouncements breed conspiracy theories and underground movements

aborted feebly, forever filibustering empty space with tasseled sheets of ice

arraigned in rows, rafter spies whetting razors on brown

straps pinned next to the mirror whispering siren songs, reciting a list

of future checkmarks to make with a black iron soul deaf to fear and pain

as long as it’s your own because we’re all pawns and it sucks

the big one, none of us is together with anyone or reconciled

to our own boiling scar tissue, looking like Lorenzo for a cure, we will find soulless.

 

Liquid therapy or et cetera to change the angle of incidental reflectance

that I have with reality sometimes, though on others it’s a myth-making mirror

and I can see satirical catchphrases raining like mana with movie

deals and halloween costumes, but I feel like Alex being cured

and screaming in pain, flowing rusty record scratch sensation

of tin foil flavored ice cream every night after dinner, so eyes up to see

the path before you is but terrors anyway, so sizzle your veins and solid your blood.

 

Time is the final arbiter, the scale pit and glory at once

together bumping bright holes in the sky, clouds tearing like

tissues apart with lava liquid pouring from the sky in a stream

to the ground, flowing the harbinger of what’s been earned

as well as given so in the end we’ll all get it, and after the reckoning

I’ll see you unless I don’t, because good luck is all that we have.

Poem: Coin Toss

Poem: Cycle Gaming

During the war, we loved the game

constricting bedsheets were standard issue

but at night, we frolicked among the corpses

playing blood censor and giggling again

 

grab the rifle, click their icons through the sight

the more we kill the more we die, so fuck it we die tonight

 

Anniversary fireworks lit the night alive

we kept still, each thinking it was over

proclaimed victory was poison metastasis

oppression is the devil’s eyes, glaring back at us

 

no no no is the leader we fight, he has bills to pay

so double down, we kill them all tomorrow today

 

revolution number two, slot machine politics

betting the future on a coin flip lever pull

the power to the people, consensus is solution

we figured it out and wrote it down in blood

 

it’s not perfect, for fear-frenzied falsehearts lead

pushers liars and cheats, don’t trust their seeds

 

those seductive grandstanders podium settle

my father fought, the bright revolution bla bla bla

and all their words disguise the world in tettered shrouds

the poor are starving and rising, a voice to raise them comes

 

a shining army of justice, frankincense and myrrh

keep on going straight, and we are where we were

Poem: Cycle Gaming