The Writer meets the StripperNarcissists will panderto the one-way mirror,sycophants fall in love.
The Flutter VelocityI didn't know the bridge would fallor that the water beneath could consumethe last structures of an identity,when held still I don'tfight anymore.The architects were ignorant.I make gills and breathe,submit to pressure,the last car to fall is black.I don't care anymore.The shore persists.
To a NihilistYou are a collection of atoms expressing sentimental miscellanea, introverted processes designed by coincidence to always prove the theory of chaos,I am unstable,but you are decomposing. I wonder,sometimes, if you contemplate futility or peaceor constance or value or the fate of our mortalityin a universe that holds its dead starsfor millennia, a history of dust,implosions,but then I remembereveryone does.And that is what you never learned, never sought to.
And The Silver SpoonMy associative prismhas lost a coloror a shade,a shape of long grassfrom the eyes of a spun child lying.I collect evidencefor naivety,none,but without abscence.The blades trippedinto each other,water beads,laughter,shiny leather shoes.
Blue DreamI discovered a manwho makes me feel incomparablethe same way Columbus discovered America:he existed beforehand and was probably better offwithout a directionally challenged sociopath,no matter what those Thanksgiving craftspeddle to Neoamerican children.Regardless, his persistence withstood my apathetic exterior,and I like his music even if I don't say it,"You're okay," translates to something meaningful,"Pretty great," says exceptional, "I'm really senstive," adresses that he knows what he's doingwith his tongue, his lips, his cock,and ten competent fingers,but now I'm making excuses. I have a big nose,countable ribs, narrow hips, an ass like a sheet of drywall,a shipful of charisma, countless manipulations,social ineptness, political anxiety,and over a thousand pages of writing, which,for the record,in case he doesn't get it:that's a lot of emotional bullshit,and about half of it is melodramatic, petty,unsubstantiated stories about my life
Muon neutrinoSome number of daysbecome one: a thought bound togetherby the number of pills I took, 12 on Wednesday,you forgot Thursday, when God lets his head resta blackhole forms,and you ask for your poems back.Maybe I took a reflection gold like yours,a few back hairs, the phone you bought, a German market,your accent, but my hand was possessed:I spun a new era,knocked around plastic bottlesand shattered a dropper. My lines were perfect,nothing like the fizzy bits of an atom,when your car never started,a roach on the nightstand,my eye imploded,but I send my poems back.The ones on napkins, dollars, candy wrappers,unduplicated sinews of sex, laughter,or just an amphetamine,your smile--You were always better. And betteris impossible to swallow,light's always faster,and when God blinks,nothing happens.
Things he saysIf wishes were fishesIt would be a stinky world.
Period Poem. When your stomach gurgles and spurts out blood. Another nice pair of panties out in a must. FUCK YOU UTERUS FOR USING ENERGY TO CREATE A BLOOD BED FOR A FETUS INSTEAD OF FASTER METABOLISM. (I must be psychotic, I must be demented, I must have watched "what." by bo burnham too fucking minted). Not sure if I have seen enough blood or not near enough. Not sure if I want to stab you in the nuts. Not sure if it's hormones or my unquenchable thirst for blood. Cause' woman see more blood then they ever must. And I was saving those really expensive chocolates for an occasion.Well the occasion is me groaning in pain watching Netflix. I really wanted to save these chocolates for civilization.Now I ache to think I may have to go to work soon. I feel bloated, contorted, exploding and at any second; vomited. They say masturbation helps me with the pain, but then I'll haveto scrub my hands and do
Dear Mr Shredder...Don't tell me your shaking in your bootsat the sound of our weapons looseWhy make us chase youthere's nothing you can doit's simple, plain as can be seenwhen we're done, you wont like the color greengo ahead and send your ninja after usthe more you try you make a fusstwenty down, one target, that's youYou're gonna have to face us that's trueShake in your tin suit that's okaythe more you shield yourself the better I sayfour kids can take you down with their eyes closedbreak the suit from your skin you're all exposedfor the world to see so much moreyou're no match for us fourmy brothers and I can kick your *ssshove you right through the window glasswe'll watch silently, down you goto the pavement far belowYou, Mr. Shredder are no moreyou've been down downgraded to first floorhow's it feel to actually bleedyour no longer being fed by greeda team of mutants can take you downdefeat you and take your crownyou never was a kingheartache is all you ever bringRejoice
New LimerickThere was a poison tester called Smith,
Ode to AflackOde to AflackDear Aflack, my fine poetic friend,I cannot see why you cannot just accept your name.It is a name, of such power,such majesticness,and yet...you do not see the beauty that is your name.Oh what glorious rays of joydoes your name send forth.So how, my friend, can you hate it so?Dearest, Aflack,Please...love your name.It is the only one you have.
Desert Down UnderWelcome to Australia,land of sun and thonged feet.Where you'll find the Drop bear,and swelter in the heat.It's said our hairy spidersare as big as a man's head!But our biggest is the Huntsman.If it's not, I'd drop dead!Yes I think we're a hardy bunch,battling fires and killer fish.Enduring Summer with hoses;but this might be a myth.Let me talk about flip-flops.Well, here we call them thongs.And sunny days in our shorties,drinking and singing loud songs.There's a legend 'bout the Dunnyand Red Backs on the seat.Don't get caught without paperor you'll wipe with your feet!And what about the Bunyip?Oh, he's a good friend of mine.Sits with the billy on the porch,and helps me waste my time.->
Hemingwaywas half-right—write high;edit high;proofread sober.