Soggy and Gross

 

 

My tongue feels soggy and gross

murders forced down my throat

without reason

 

tasteless

they remain

 

distant stories

 

news articles

and head counts

 

no one is immune

 

so precious

 

rare

is

human free from sin

 

rare

is

human free

 

we are missing

 

lost in a myth

 

we’ve forgotten

and retold a million times

 

always the same ending

never a new beginning

 

start over

start

over

start over

 

stop

Stop Pretending

 

 

Why can’t you do both?

why the one trick pony routine?

are all humans really only good at one thing?

are all humans real?

are we ghosts of ourselves?

what would the real me look like?

and where would I find him?

sitting on a stack of books?

reading the morning news?

daily life can be so mundane

the routine so soulless it feels forced

and we all continue dancing around

drinking coffee and smiling at one another

laughing at movies as if they were about us

thinking life is just so

this way or that way

you can only make a left turn here

up the road and over the rail road tracks

arbitrary divisions of land

this is mine and this is yours

my toy my toy

No one should be without help

but we wouldn’t know what to do with it when we got it

endlessly flawed

holes in everything

but somehow still here

still going

pillaging and raping and killing

as we do

us folk

our kind

people like us

spirits

trapped inside bone structures

and eye brows

a myth

the human element

animals with thoughts

choices and ideas

we still haven’t figured out where we’re going yet

but will we know it when we get there?

or should I just worry about myself

and let everyone else decide

I’m just here for the free food

and whatever else they’re handing out

pharmaceuticals?

maybe if I take more they’ll give less to children

maybe the children will take over

and we’ll all be saved

what kind of corrupt innocence would that be?

noble but violent

There’s no more silence

only loud voices talking over one another

in text

from across the world

we’re not solving anything

we’re just finding more questions

hopefully we start asking the right ones

because the record keeps skipping

and we could use some new tunes

Sound the trumpets

let us go

be real

and stop pretending…

ON VERNACULAR

Mama’s horny

and ma cumpewtah bout ta die

and I can’t see no poetry on the horizon.

so why you be stallin?

Nothing like a white page

to make you feel empty

filthy lazy animals

sniffing for holes to fuck

There’s something disconcerting

about a loose pair a lips

the way they flaps out happy

like that

I don’t even know what dis shits about

but I’m rollin in it.

like sweet puddy on my fingers

and I’ll carouse all night

so why you be stallin?

Molly

wavs climbing ceilings

hot genitals tingling

and I want

 to sing

 

she’s here i tell you

here

point         turn         nothing

 

the music changes

bolero I imagine

guns at my sides

boots clopping on wood

spurs

 

sweet jive with the drums

hips bouncing pouncing like

a plucked strings chord

a

       bass

 

drops-

 

 out from underneath

footing’s fucked

a voice freaks up

we freak out

I tear off my sheets

crump naked down the halls

writhing rhythm-ism

 

-wism-lism

 

the others join

grabbing fun parts

in jest then in sex

a vaganalorgy of sorts

and the music blared on

dancing and fucking

until

 

             , do we part.

 

 

Rush

 

horizontal

a

c

r

o

s

s

vertical

lines

a masticated black

Cadillac

had fought the razing

of City walls

blown windshield doors

ripped from

sockets

police men pulled from  pockets

law sirens

blurred and

trampled and stamped

abide to the road!

a sign we

don’t

see      the fuck, we’re in

and the humans inside them

are alive