Hello, I’m a voice
speaking in hushes to warn concern;
That thy wishes, cold and leery lust,
like a leaf with orange burn,
are agents of hurry, excitably;
Touring the countryside, bicycling,
very, very, very, hermeneutically….
(Must be the wind invariably)
To hell with wrong sides
I went straight up from bed
flew through the ceiling
and contused a halo on my head.
Bad day or Monday.
One day or Sunday.
We’re all gonna die someday.
And when that fish eats me,
I won’t know shit.
it’s stuck in you.
Dreary for the dance;
All tangled up in blue.
Fortunes smile on the faces of people who face nothing;
Lackadaisical, but thrown on purpose a dull bone;
Bemused, stood the terrorist, as the hostage made a fist,
Yelling “who all wanna get blown to bits?”
I do, I do raising my hand,
saying the pledge of allegiance.
As America is born of terror…
it befits Shirley(don’t call me that) that,
she refinanced her home on the internet
Surely, I don’t know if that America exists.
I know she dates and finds singles, gets drunk at bars;
Comes home to the internet where she strokes it real hard.
Pithy syrup farmers drool as the next cloud grows.
Thumbs up. You are spared, or was it speared.
We spare no expense in the sharing of your excess.
But there is torrid plain dryness on souls who fall into entropy
under a bright blue sky where clouds puffy like cotton,
that combs made by Eli could not pick.
And fresh from the calloused hands wearing down
tools made of stone, chewing a few grains of barley,
and sitting in a hut with firewood that you call a highly specific unisex toilet;
Blood and shit–meaningless,
meaningless, as me saying this:
The lint in my pocket is my friend and his friend is called change.
I can take it in stride
Mindful of events as I attempt to apprise
Situations in life or the hearts of all people
Walking down the street with a beautiful woman
Upon realization that she isn’t yours then
Back to the apartment for more weed and more liquor
Quick is the solution losing all feeling is quicker
Cept in the ineptitude
You didn’t do anything to it…
Made faces in rays of sun till your blood would turn bluer
Forgot that your life is like a thousand little deaths
Each one as painful as joy is bereft
Oh, the loss of food
Like throwing up blood
Maybe a pint or two
Enough to get money to by a little more sorrow
The inevitable as inevitable
As waking up tomorrow
Well, maybe I will and maybe I won’t
Lying in the bathroom as my body slowly chokes
Reprehensible, so senseless this acting
Like a bull in a china shop
Making fracas for happening
No, I didn’t want to do it
But I did just the same
Ask me like you mean it
Like you want someone to blame
Lying back looking at destruction and chaos
Kicked off the century with a war just to piss off
Atheists and nonbelievers who said Christ isn’t coming
I’m duct tapped to a window with my gun just for fun, eh?
Move over my neighbors, bitch I’ll shoot out your meat hooks
Run into your house and take all your school books
Look at that binding, not a broken seam in it
Does your mind just absorb or are you that deft of a reader?
Laughing at the imagery and running from the insatiable
Hunger and thirst like falling bombs from a dirigible
Ease on back now it’s, like, time for your reality
There’s a hunger over there twice as strong as your reality
TV you crave, I know I can’t stop watching
By the time that I do my body will be rotting
Six feet beneath, but I’m over not under
As if Tralfalmadorians could decide or scoff at our lot then
Realize that little here is little more than most
Packing up microwaves like rappers pack toast
Not at all unbelievable
But let your reality decide, if this is just castigation
Or did I take it in stride?
(2006) Revised 2011
Having never fought anything except myself
I am not sure what it is to kill anyone else;
Though I’ve killed millions in a puritan’s lifetime,
That life is not mine; it is usury for the blood from christ’s time.
Battered and wrapped in a thorny laurel leaf,
Accepting of all things, sins,
Whatever was not mine to give;
So that I may borrow on a poorly stamped coin
In Gaul or Aragon,
Mauritania or Palestine,
Thine own Thames of savage time.
Marred low by Mar’s low
Brow beating in which cuts
Had only to feel dug like fossils of ivory.
Cleanliness meaning dead.
Eating all that which is thrown out to be fed,
To those who do not eat;
Only souls stamped on to repeat
The flight of nike by a white man like me.