New news heard before.

I heard a guard got shot in a land of civilian hostages.
Patsy, patsy, how do sides spin catastrophe?
How do world wars start so simply?
Like, we can’t all come together at one time at any time.
Until its time to go to war.
I mean,
what’s the deal with airline food?
Pasty casualty of government acid mastery.
You know, like that movie about the goats?
With George Willis.
I mean, Michael Snoopy?
Georgie Cloonie.
I wonder if CERN cloned me.
I wonder if I’d know which me is me.
Atoms split into duplicates.
Nuclear fall out, and how to get use to it.
I heard there were lands that sunk.
Buildings we built we can’t build up.
I heard our president’s got big hands.
What went viral was what to do if an atomic bomb hits my homeland.
That’s not my land.
My home is in my hand,
if I take it.
Then they wanna play war on it.
Risk.
On a stolen board.
Great game.
What a shame war is going to lose.
It put so much work into ruining everything.
Weak god.
And we’re going to make it come out great.
We’re going to smile and adjust this fate.
Move out the way pops.
Let me steer.
You’re clouded by fear,
and we gotta go fast.
If this were a ship, may we have a large mast.
If this were a sip, may it be one that last.
I will not follow my faulting.
I will answer all God calls to me.
The voice in my head that helps me.
I will feed it everything that’s left of me.

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Thing’s I don’t know.

What will me be?
When the real me is flung free
from this mortal coil.
From which I projected toils,
word things, that I fling and sing.
Like a bird on a turd,
pretty shit.
Fabricate wordscapes with dynamics.
You hallucinate reality,
and you see I’m your mechanic.
Running smooth.
Well made ceramics.
Turning moves.
Sexy as a planet.
Staying in heaven.
Your body’s the church.
Lucky number seven,
and a gift that we call hurt.
Nothingness doesn’t exists,
unless you create something to perceive it.
Death can’t be witnessed,
unless life there to seize it.
We’ll be alive in the dirt.
Regrow on another earth.
I see that seems to fit it.
But, I don’t know much about that.
Cause I’m alive, that’s where I’m at.

It’s Little Things.

Pizza lighter.
They put pizzas on your lighters.
It’s a pizza lighter.
It’s the end of the world,
but it’s okay,
pizza.
They make it for stoners.
Like me!
Golly gee!
Pizzas on your lighter,
they did it for free.
They know you need a lighter
and know you’d like a pizza.
They make money off it.
Pizza lighter.
A line of lighters for you,
all dripping with hippy-dippy,
pizza lighter.
It’s silly.
OMG.
Right?
Pizza lighter.
It’s the end of the world!
But, your pocket got a joke in it.
Pizza lighter.
So cool and fun, man.
Dig it? I love pizza.
I bet she’ll laugh.
Pizza lighter.
In the dark yard owned by moonlight only.
She stands still, I hold her solely closely.
I lit the light she needs.
Pizza lighter.
Big storm takes away your house.
Better start a fire,
or you’ll freeze to death.
Pizza lighter.
Under the stars you laugh at it.
At the place you use to be.
A world in the past, a dimension my ass passed.
One where I didn’t get
a pizza lighter?
Non existence.
Not this kinda kid, he’d never miss it.
Pizza lighter.
It’s got fucking pizzas on it, dude.
Dirt forever in your finger nails.
Big city pit of radioactive steam-trails
Better fry up that lumpy mammal meat.
Pizza lighter.
Hey, hey, heart eye emoji.
Life moves on forever slowly.
The gas for light is none to have holding.
Held her tightly nightly,
when the lighter didn’t lit.
Pizza, plastic, piece of trash.
Spent up last flash.
Rest well, quick little dash.
In heart you burn, like fire under oven-cooked
pizza.

A Death.

A death!
For me?
Such flattery.
Somewhere out there it be,
just outside of see,
a death just for me.
Maybe, slow is the way it goes.
Or maybe fast, swept off my ass.
Maybe it will be slashes and gashes, maybe it will be in a comfortable seat.
Maybe I’ll laugh about it, or maybe I’ll weep.
Maybe there will be more, or maybe this is all I had to reap.
Maybe the lives pile up, it’s just the memories I can’t keep.
Maybe Hell ain’t that deep, and I’ll crawl out while the Devil sleeps.
Maybe Heaven likes to party, I mean, God said we can drink.
There’s a death just for me, so I don’t care what you think.
It makes this life just for me, so I’ll do as I see fit.
A death just for you too, I said not to loud on the lips.
Your loved ones do too, it’s okay to already be sad about it.
That’s because Time’s the keeper of the wilt.
You can feel what has yet to be spilt.
And Space is the weaver of the quilt,
but not the one for repairs.
And God ain’t got a real name yet,
because the church turns victims from its stairs.
Science finds number for a miracle sunset
but at the end of the day who cares?
Since death is something true for a sunset too,
just try to enjoy the view.

Hold tight.

Hold tight to what can’t be held. Fleeting moments dancing drunkely away like a mirrored version of yourself. A wild beast in time with the spirit of the unlabled. Cling tight to these untouchable events. Speak true and bravely to the void that calls and then hang up on it. Live loudly and brightly with all passions in your heart. Be what you want. Don’t listen to me. Cling to your own words. Live by rules set upon yourself. But, don’t be a dick about it. Or do. I don’t care. Cling to nothing that doesn’t matters. Cause what matters will cling to you.  Hold tight to be held tight. Remember to be remembered. Love to be loved. Hold tight to what can’t be held. Hold your memories and hold them well, but don’t let them be your jail. I don’t know much about heaven or hell, but I think I can tell that I am what I am.

Ain’t that Neat

Y’all go to church, but don’t get it’s on the sun’s day.

Y’all get upset at night cause y’all dont like how the moon plays.

Claim to see the light, but act like these trees don’t give life to you.

How the fuck is that? We understood that shit as baboons.

Why’s this real ass shit make me laugh like it’s a cartoon?

Why’s the deal wrapped up before everyone gets to the damn room?

Why the fuck the ice caps letting me say, “I told you so,” so soon?

Where are the other seasons?

Does evil even have reason?

Ain’t no cause that get’s blood washed off.

Watch you words, they make hearts hard or soft.

Be a boat that’s been to a port or two,

hold tight things that are important to you.

Understand things will sort out.

Understand all lights go out.

And all darkness sparkles.

And all things are marvelous.

It’s all probably just a part of this.

Life polishes up a mighty bit

of shine, time, and rhyme.

You live that life that’s fine.

I express this mind of mine.

And feel grasses slide like itching deities between my fingers.

Eyes up, skies touch the ground if you think about it.

Wrapped up, blanket around my mind, and I can’t get out it.

The race to the stars began at the bottom of our feet.

In our soles.

Ain’t that neat?

 

I existed

I laid back on my bed and existed.

I looked up at the ceiling fan,

I saw the dust on the fan,

and I wished I could eat it

Cause I was hungry.

I existed,

I saw the flower-shaped nail coverings on my panel ceiling.

I had my hand behind my head

and that felt good.

I had my other arm bent at a right angle,

and my legs we totally relaxed.

As they hung off the side of the bed,

I existed.

And I thought back on my day.

As I existed.

Where I played music,

Watched movies,

Ate cold refried beans and cheese

Out of a tortilla boat,

And drank sake bombs.

Smoked weed.

Walked my dog.

With no particular order or number of times to any of it,

I existed.

By taking deep breaths,

by not letting my mind move,

avoiding any thought of my day,

I existed.

I wrote an entirely different poem

than this one you’re reading.

I tried to stay still.

I tried to only exist.

By forgetting everything I was trying to remember,

Escaping my clutches on myself.

I existed.

I don’t get philosophy.

“Democritus, why you laughing? Is it for these atoms uplift you, and the world taken on is paltry game? Is it because you do not burden with the prime mover? Does your mind not dwell on what happens, when you are no longer here to ponder mere puzzles? Democritus,” said the weeping philosopher to the sleeve of his robe. “How is it, that I’m freed from all, in my reality which moves so freely? Yet, wholly lost within my own melancholy pathos. How do you laugh, when you only delusion yourself with understanding the logos? You formulate, but feel no personality in the formula. You’re like a smart raven repeating reoccurring events. Of course, you deserve to laugh. Perhaps, I am obscured. For being immovable, witnessing strife derived by source’s flow as justice and penance. Not as effect prior effect. For seeing the path of up and down as one and the same. For seeing that everything. Flows. You remove yourself from everything to measure it. I swim concluded with it. You laugh; they will bury me in my own poop.”

 

“I dunno, Heraclitus,” the laughing philosopher said, “it was just funny.”

That’s love, baby.

The force of power derived from the momentum of our engagement lingers on my mind’s lips. To this day.

Like the dew right before noon; it begins to fade, but I find myself still damp every morning, realizing the feelings reoccur on me.

It’s not the way your thighs do. Or what’s between.

It’s not the way your eyes do. Or the sex’s shade of gleam.

It’s not the way your black hair. Falls between your red lips and gets stuck to them.

While you sleep in my bed in a romanticized semi-fictional memory.

It’s because you don’t give a fuck about me, but are unable perform as a bitch do.

Or how you hate the world, but still love life.

How you detach from us all and still have compassion.

How you do absolutely nothing, but still draw a reaction.

How these words turn you off.

How, for you, I can bleed on every page

Only to have you throw them all away.

Because you’re embarrassed.

That’s adorable.

Know it doesn’t matter.

Caught in an eternal

one night stand.

We will always be naked

No matter the layers

We put between us.

No matter the distance,

No matter how much matter separates us

The mattress

Is what matters.

So I’ve created my own life,

But named it after you.

Discovered other delights

And engaged thinking of you.

We could have been young

And drowned in ourselves.

Burned out love

like searing skin touched by a cattle iron. Branded each other to each other with scarring.

Instead.

One smothered.

One escaped.

Now it’s like lightning and thunder.

Always together, but never perceived to touch.

The muse

And the pen.

The poet and the lover.

I’ve tried to forget her.

I’ve tried to bring her back.

I’ve tried to push her away

To get a view of what she really is.

But I am a Baudelaire,

and she doesn’t care.

I am A Rousseau.

And she is the

nameless girl

in my poem.

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