Poem: The Morning After

The time is now, that much is certain

to everyone, for everyone, too

much is certain, stores running short

of confidence, seeing the past and the future

superimposed, something must and is

happening now in people’s exploding

minds, afire and that’s all it takes

to start a real revolution, the revolt of the revealed

tearing everyone’s blinders off.

 

Or, spit on the ground, cleat it

with steel, make a stomping splash

sound effect, goose-stepping

our discarded hopes, forgetting the ancient

wisdom seeping up again

from the dirt, feasting on death

as flowers eat the sun, every factorial cataclysm

shows that the sky is higher

than ever, before we finally see

god, the devil and a rapturous war.

 

More than likely neither, of course

because whatever happens, the heart beats

like nothing, it lasts forever

as far as you know, in the end

it will come too soon, so justly

we wander on, taking what comes

clean and dusted as best

we can, say yes half-heartedly

again, but not for a while.

Poem: The Morning After

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: Comedian

Flip them off, all of them, to satisfy yourself

if nothing else, young master is defiant and unafraid

shivering in the moonlight sweater

weather daunting, shivering tremors

regret and disabuse, saying “never again”

again, knowing it to be a lie

this time as last, you will eat from a trough

like a pig, choking on cackles of spite

superiority and mimicry, the tools in your satchel

slipping away, to look for the truth.

 

About you or the condition of the world

fun will be a construct, someday once I find it

raised on a pedestal, skeletally still for one

momentary lapse in judgement, repeated ad nausea

until it makes you sick, a second person

figment of the imagination, you are an unreal

reeling rod, listen for the sinker drop

that never comes, though,

until you’ve already missed it

in the flood of sugary syrup.

Poem: Comedian

Poem: Anniversary

The big day started as big days do

with a whimper, exultant pulling from a bottle

bubbly of poison, morphing itself by the pound

into savage recompense for arrogant sins

that opened the door, for her to step through

calling me a loser, or maybe revealing

the truth of it, that I cannot shield a viper

from its own poison, but she stares at me

with hurt and disappointment, shivering at loving hands

as they caress the past, calling it a lie.

 

This poem was supposed to be about

the night of a chilly wind, smelling sparkle

dots on all sides while we fell

into each other, on the sidewalk

half a decade to the day ago, but I am poison

piss and blood, ruining everything

because I’m a fuck up

less than suitably whatever, swiping at spider

webs, hands not hot enough

to do any good, the legs and the poison

are everywhere, horrifying with love, hate, and history

in equal measure, the links of covalence.

 

Also called codependence, and it makes me

sick every time I fail her, giving her less

always than what she asks, calling it a need

moves me not into the greatness

over the horizon, is this fear or incompetence

I wonder, or maybe it is bitter

punishment for every insult paid

me by a callow cur, as it serves

her right to treat me this way, I will rise

to expectations, eventually I hope

someday, but in the fire of her eyes

I see a skunk, turning and raising its tail.

 

Five years in I disappoint the day

with truckloads of bullshit, but she caresses

my face and digs in my back

with pleasure, gazing down

a gentle spell cast wordless

soothing sounds, omit the logic

leaving me with love, future fumbles

await me as a flogging scourge, and I’m ready

so bring it on, forever onward, I’ll never turn

back, onward to the future sun.

Poem: Anniversary

Poem: Introduction

This is my skin

motherfucker, trying to say what

I should or shouldn’t be, stupid

is your title, not mine ‘cause I see

the picture to the edges, it is

more than you could ever hope

to understand, bookcase protractor

bitch, thinking the angles are a team

joining to jail us, and they are

a team mind you, on the other

side, where you don’t even

speak the language.

 

Seeing I am circular

sensation games, there is none

of a point to be had, nothing

profound ever occurs at night

really, or in the day, it’s all shadow

puppets like Plato said, disguising

disgusting opinions about all

the scapegoats braying

in unison, exterminations occur

just like you said they would

behind your words.

 

Lucky for me

that I’ve nurtured, deafness

to the howls, of your words

meaning nothing, not even

a piano trail crawling slowly

can make them seem profound

at all, even the slightest

little bit.

Poem: Introduction