but aren't they all random?



A Pocketful of Poesy was a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog* up until the great derail of 2013. The impossibly-high standard of quality proved impractical to keep up, without a book deal. But don't take my word for it: click RANDOM and judge for yourself! And feel free to offer your critique.
*based on poem rate for calendar years 2009-2012. Also, kidding about the book deal.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

together alone

I almost don't know why I love you so
I definitely know why I need it
For me there isn't a bad thing in it
You make me feel outstanding, brilliant

You make me want to be the man.
I always said I was, but this time, I am
at least with a little help. With your belief
in me,
I can.

Be my friend, my love. Hold my hand,
and I will pretend I understand where we are.
Where we've been has been too hard to be.
Where we're going is not too far to see,

but there's nothing there we wanted,
except you and me. (may be.) The rest
is all fog, haze, and a forecast of rain
for days and days.

I wish I could live with you
in this storm, but instead
I must stay in the sun.
for you, I will keep it warm.

Wherever you stay I will be here.
There's no place I'd rather stray but home
- but until you can make it, I'll wait alone.

It's a beautiful place
to be my own.

Monday, September 15, 2014

ahold (of)

I'd love to linger
forever in this world
, honestly. I love it. I'd love to strike
sweet deals with higher powers that be, to keep me

vigorous and incorruptible

on a permanent basis, on a non-metempsychotic
bodhisattva vow of some sort. And oh,
I would do my part! In exchange, I'd do

- oh heck who am I kidding, it's to do

my part

that I want the deal.

But I know that won't happen.
This world is not our final home,

I'm afraid.

But I can see
that this world is the place to be,
this world is the forge - we create who we are,
and who we will be. From, as has been so beautifully said:

babies.

We're born into raw materials, a
tiny gurgling thing, and with circumstance. As we grow,
our grasp on self takes hold, and we
begin to direct who we are and who we will be
-come. Through our own choice, our one chance,
our true self is, and takes shape. Makes itself, self-made
, every choice defines us, that we make. Can we
do anything? Anything we will? Anything we please?
Please, no. No, our circumstance and our raw material will
impose some limits. Yet

we can and do make every choice we make. And every day,
this is how we create
a self.

just one

This life,
just one

- is an incredible gift. And even if it turns
out there is no Giver, our self is the gift
we give back.

Let us remember we are dust, let's make love
and make war, and make God damned sure
our dust is not all we will leave

behind.

one who holds hell.

I am one who holds hell is not
the horror you are condemned to
for ever, or even for life. Oh, those who abide
there may know hell
may very well last that long. At least,
it may feel like it, but hell is not the bad thing
to which you are condemned.

Hell is the amazing thing
you are forced to do utterly without.

And for life,
forever probably
- or it feels like it. Who cares!

Hell is just what that feels like. Hell
is just what feels like that.
It doesn't matter how long
it's going to last.
It doesn't even necessarily have
to exist

for you to feel it, those flesh
-tearing hooks and hot tongues
of flame. A lake of fire?

You and I could have blown it out like a candle, woman
we were such a match!! Hell

is the punishing agony of banishment, awakened
to the finest and best good, and denied it.
Hell is where you live.
And what you are forced to endure, from having
once known love,

to now, when you know how sure:

it is denied.

"my woman"

My woman is mine: my property. I mean
a property of mine that's essential to me.
I mean a property of mine without which
I've lost

- who I am.
She has made me so strong,
but at awful cost: I cannot be my self

no more.

I can only be hers,
and she knows the score
When she gave herself to me,
she gave all that she had
and not one bit more. More
or less, I was already hers,
so I've got that back plus she
has got all of mine. Given new,
every day and that's so damn fine
How I feel, for true:
this is how it should be.
We like it this way.

We know the score,
and the game and at the end
of the day, we know the final result:
One to nothing, we win.
There was never much doubt,
when we never give in.
There was never any hope
for the other guys, no.
Not once sides were drawn,
but we're game - we'll play, though!
It's fun. Here we go:

We are one, one side,
one goal two tenders,
through hell, one ride
one fire gone out of control
consumes all the world's woulds
to embers - scorched to ash, for good
- and it rises, up from ash
every setting sun:
one fire
two minds two hearts
one will be done.

Just one: what she and I
decide to agree on today, and okay
- I'll bite. What's on your mind?
I won't hide, and
you can touch me,
I won't die.
'Til the day we part:
for without your self,
such strong free gift -
if you ever take it back,
there'll be none of me left.
My self. Will have been undone,
All properties lost. All
the strength you gave,
all the joys we won
and every way I know now
how to find my way. How to be
a man - without you, I could not say.
You taught me how to be a man,
when you made me yours. Without you,
I'm just half
half heart
half soul: not for better, now, no:
the worst. No cure.

My woman is mine,
and she wins the earth.
My baby doll,
My very best girl,
My woman my ole lady,
My rock my world,
My role is to be
your man, for best.
You gave your self to me,
I cannot give less.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Breakfist McBag

Ah, breakfast on the go

a lifestyle for so many, 
in the western world

  convenience and nutrition, in
 one delicious bag

  mingling hot smells and 
bumping up against each other

 the most important meal 
of the day has its way with us

fast, fresh and hot

well, good job anyway
Eating breakfast.

A deep end.

I can't go swimming
 in my own mind
 without a floatation device of some kind.

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Resolution.

Its 2am tonight.
I shall walk in light,
and fear
No evil except
That which rears
It's ugly

head.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Way Too Much Chardonnay

I been a pretty good old boy.
Knocking back my whisky shots.
Drinking kerrs and buh with joy
- well, what more do we need or got?
But then I met this lady, friend
- she says I'm quite the gentleman.
I'm used to having things my way,
but I'm trying more of hers each day, I drink

Way too much chardonnay!
We share a taste in finer wine
- I usually go about 5.99
and she's a thirty dollar a bottle girl,
we drink way too much chardonnay!
Try to cut back, but there ain't no hope.
I can't get enough of that butter, and
she needs a whooole lot of oak,
We drink way too much chardonnay

My friends have seen the change in me.
They give me grief, but I'm happy.
And even those who call me "punk"
admit I'm such a nicer drunk.
This wine brings out sincerity,
with notes of truth and clarity?
And finishes with just a hint -
that I'm getting way too deep in it, I drink

Way too much chardonnay!
We share a taste in finer wine
- I usually go about 5.99
and she's a thirty dollar a bottle girl,
we drink way too much chardonnay!
Try to cut back, but there ain't no hope.
I can't get enough of that butter, and
she needs a whooole lot of oak,
We drink way too much chardonnay

Now my friends are starting in
on this and that pinot and zin.
They're talking all that wine-snob talk,
and telling me to step it up!
Well I don't mean to push my snoot
into whatever you call fruit.
You can go as red you like, I'm not ashamed
to be so white, I drink

Way too much chardonnay!
We share a taste in finer wine
- I usually go about 5.99
and she's a thirty dollar a bottle girl,
we drink way too much chardonnay!
Try to cut back, but there ain't no hope.
I can't get enough of that butter, and
she needs a whooole lot of oak,
We drink way too much chardonnay

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

day shift


All my dreams gave notice
and quit. It's empty
on the factory floor each night,
no magic to make or supervise.
But in the day, those dreams come by. Disheveled, ghastly in the light,
they grouse a bit and beg for change.
I tell them, please! Come back to work!
I'd be so glad to take you back. You played
so well by dim limelight. By daylight,
you're simply not believable. They
look at me strange, as if I came
from a world that had lost its soul,
its shadow, its reflection and gone
looking for it in theirs. But I'm sure
it was the other way round

Monday, August 18, 2014

"Afoot"

The game is afoot,
And two feet make a stance
But 2 geniuses form
Into one Latin plural
with wishes to grant
that break open bottles
And fire up smoke -
So we think,

And we plan,

And we rub

And we hope.

"Highway 9"

Highway Nine at night:
driving through a grove.
All the leaves came gathering
to see trees take off clothes;
darkness comes in close
To settle in your eyes
as the sun goes hiding, we
go seeking faerie lights, I

hit the road and drive that stick
just roll on up and down with it,
you witch the road with spells that stick,
then roll up high and fly with it
we hug the road with wheels that stick
then roll around and curve with it,
we pick the road through sacred grove
then pull aside and hide
in it,


for I am hid in you
and you are here in me
and anyone would know
it's hid for all to see
the darkness comes in close
to settle in your gaze
your fair hair's electric gold
can't hide your darkest ways, hey

witch the road with spells that stick,
then roll up high and fly with it
I pick the road and drive that stick
then roll on up and down with it,
we hug the road with wheels that stick
roll all around and curve with it,
we pick the road through sacred grove
then pull aside and hide in it,
a bit

we fit
into this place
we run
down paths by leaves, erased
and find ourselves
in fairy ring
cathedral, chased
in stained-glass dust,
hung in moonbeams
just for us, just
for us, just
for us,
just

take the road that goes on high, then
pull in someplace sanctified
chase the road that goes in deep, then
get lost on your own four feet
feel yourself sprout angel wings
and fur and hair and claws and things
ride the road to stars and sky
then tumble out and let things lie

Highway Nine at night:
drive in through a grove.
All the leaves came gathering
to see trees take off clothes;
darkness comes in close
unsettling your lies
Your fair hair can't cover up
the darkness in my eyes, I

hit the road.

Friday, August 08, 2014

Make ready.

Time

To make ready for
tomorrow.But

I haven't had today yet!

benedicted.

I'm not flirting with the world. Just death!
If you please, I will take it lying down;
Standing fast. On my knees? Pray
To god. In my eyes, arteries, or
Pores. Give
Me more than I can take,
'cause I can't take

More.

Tuesday, August 05, 2014

"Stone Dry"

I go out talking every night
and talking's thirsty work
I don't need a drink,
I just like to whistle.
So whet
yourself
On this stone

You can't squeeze a drop of blood
from a man alone,
I go out talking every night
Talking's thirsty work
I don't need a drink
I just love to whistle

In the dark
In the dark
I just

Put my lips together, and I

and I

I suck.

Friday, July 25, 2014

"succinct"

http://asurfaceofinfiniteshallowness.blogspot.com/2014/07/i-like-to-write-online-poems-anybody.html







"succinct"

close in compass,
compact in scope,
brief in form,
and tightening down:

concise

essentially,
she is.

To closest fit
a given noun
that's just a bit

extravagant

to be precise.




Monday, July 21, 2014

"love boils off"

and it smells awful

once it gets down to smoking
blacked, caramelized
burnt candy glaze,
and the heart
-shaped glass tray
that I gave you, that
you'd been making
it in, saved

for special occasions only

will explode, crack!
and spray little arrows
of cutting glass and hot,
sticky residue
all over the place,
the moment you try
to move it
- suddenly remembered, if not
rescued, suddenly you
rushed in from the other room,
to the back burner
you left it on for too long,

what a waste.
I will always guess-wish
that secretly, you
had been looking forward to actually
digging into this. So
sweet,

like a song, so full
of all good things,

now gone.

Despite
the invisible shards
and ruined flavors, you
almost have to try

some. And close your eyes,

and imagine

savor.

"I killed and ate a gorilla"

I killed and ate a gorilla
to crush the butterflies,
and my stomach was calm
and my blood flowed on
and the mountains came
to ask me for advice.
I complied, perhaps partly I lied,
but they reclined, contented
and so I say the proof's in the crust.

Soon enough, the skies as well
- although to be quite honest, they did not
look as well as I'd seen them, still: I tried
to be nice to them. I told them what
they wanted to hear, or so I judged:

"Keep it up! Be yourself. Don't
let anyone get you down."
It seemed to work.

When the seas rushed in
for their share of wisdom I balked:
I can't swim! Don't drown me, please
but the seas buoyed me up, with
compliments and promises: "Just
tell us what we need to hear, we're
so sure you'll float!" and I did.

I told them:

that even though it's true
nobody suspects their deep,
yawning gaping depths of abyss,
(which was a lie, the Navy has mapped
that shit all out), that even though most
everyone only sees and rhapsodizes
over the surface, that even though you
feel, consequently, that
"no one really knows me"

- no, wrong. That surface
- all of you that all of the world
sees - is true. The surface you spread
before the world, of you, is true - and no lie,
despite you may make efforts to swirl the foam
this or that way, or pile up a rogue wave now and then,
to intimidate - still what others see
is as real as how you feel. Deep down and inaccessible
is no more real than surface and barely (or at least,
only ineffectively at best) controlled.

The seas thought that one over,
and I felt myself sink
to drown, so I thought, but turns out
I was only in
three feet of water. I'm not as deep

as I think I am sometimes.

All of this attention from the natural
world had more-or-less turned my head around.
After advising the sun to continue on its course doing likewise
vis-a-vis its own head,

from my perspective at least,

I got a little too wild, and
I killed and ate a gorilla. Yes,
in that order.

I killed and ate a gorilla
and tried to say it was ok,
excuse myself

on grounds of:
- "dada"
- "surrealist"
- absurdity,
- "satire," no not
- "irony."

I never could quite get a handle
on that, I'm

a vegan where irony, or irony by-
products are concerned,

although I try

to bolster my diet with alternative
sources
of iron,

such as a gorilla.

Where was I?

Oh yes,

at the zoo.

In the zoo jail, specifically, which
- let me tell you! Is a real damn specific, ironic
place in which to find one's self, as a human
animal! And I can't help but feel
like one wall of the zoo
jail should be just bars - open
to the viewing public. "Do not feed the
prisoner!" When's feeding time? Can
we watch? "Oh, none for me
thanks. Not hungry,

This would never fly. Zoos

would not be comfortable drawing
these kinds
of parallels
.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

fun fun

life is fun fun,
fun

it gets in
through your skin

and your nose
and your eyes
and your tongue

and it's fun fun,
and no one
's there
to take
the t-bird away
- just go daddy go
'til the day
that it

dies!

Monday, July 14, 2014

desolations

The desolations of chances missed, ways
not blazed quite through, paths there
always, but not trod
between fecund fields of friends

so closely bordered spiritually
upon each other

that the occasional,
inevitable property dispute
over dear territories so nearly
jointly-held

can only occasion joy, reunion,
rejoinder, rejoicing.
The desolations

of conversations not joined.

Meetings missed,
walks taken at times
that do not intersect, yet
on the same lines. I see
your print.

You
and I,

will or nil we,
are proceeded upon paths
that will always cross, and
that inexorably

do join.

license

Sometimes it's OK to fantasize
(idly)
(sexually)
about someone whose political
(or religious)
(or other)
opinions you very strongly
(or however weakly)
disagree
(or agree!) with, and
just as OK sometimes
to have an interaction with anyone
where certain aspects of
- whatever, you know - what
catches your attention?
Overshadow. However

bear in mind that it can't be healthy
to skew the primary way one relates
to women (or in your case maybe, men?)
towards fantasy,
towards an unmitigated prurient interest.

No,

the more one does that, the less
one is able to relate to a woman
(asterisk, and heretofore et cetera) fully, in
an interrelation and interplay of fully
full, real and realized
persons.

Which - hey, that's the good
stuff right? Sure!

Having said all that though, of course
it's ok to take somewhat of a freaky look
on it all, from time to time, too - why not?
The whole humanity deal, all aspects of others
being otherwise equal, and equally
real, with everybody fully "going on"
in all glorious facets at once - we need
to appreciate all of this, or surely we will
never be fully full ourselves, or satisfied.

Still,

sometimes it's ok to focus in on this or that
aspect! To the exclusion, not the denial
of others. Just that in a momentary moment,

in person or in mind, certain things
cry out for attention.
To be noticed, specifically, and we
- without so much as thinking it - respond,
momentarily emphasizing that thing or two
to the momentary eclipse of
the full spread of facts.

Who among us hasn't done THAT!?

You can't look fully
at every part and aspect
of a person at one and the same time, any more
than you can
(in a given moment)
focus on the entirety of a play.
To focus on part doesn't diminish
the whole. It doesn't diminish
the play, or the interplay. Or
the afterplay.

Aspects turn. They captivate us,
each in turn, as the cut diamond
of one's mind twirls in delight
to catch the brilliant white
-rose light of sunrise,

the sun caught off-guard,
first-thing in the morning,
blinking, mind reeling, flashing -

just a few brilliant aspects, caught
in several of its facets.

It diminishes us not at all
to catch in a flash this moment,
where one aspect of one act in play
momentarily consumes all. We see
it all, or we have, or we will,
but most of all just then we see
how the light has caught us,
how we catch light and - gleam,

throw it back

Tuesday, July 01, 2014

"silk"


And maybe we're spun
in a chrysalis
and maybe someday,
our wings will spread
but it won't be our wings
that break us out
we'll have to use
our head.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

my Mind for Science

Yes! My mind is for science - my body
is for science as well. I will not leave it
to science,

I can't wait

that long
I am

hot all over, for science. IMPLEMENT
ME, science WORK
your immutable laws
upon my willing, physical form
- I will:
submit without plaint,
pliant to the pulls of your forces
and reactions that ignite

around and within me.

SCIENCE!! In you I have found a master, a
mistress, a servant, a
SLAVE - I am your Igor and your tyrant alike! Your
helpless experimental subject, as well
as the defiant lab-coated madman
throwing switches, playing
God with an inner glee
belied by His cold,
sneering exterior.

Science!!

Science is

what it's all about.

You do the GMO me and you turn yourself
around, into a potato, an ear
growing on each side of the eyes - I look

at most things from a cold,
detached perspective:

surprised.
My stern eye

collecting data, my
deeply-involved mind
probing, sliding the variables
*snik!*
into place, my

oh, my. No,

there are no mysteries,
only puzzles. And the puzzle with no solution?
Is a Law.

Every true problem has its solution,
and every solution,
its precipitate as well - I want
to take my wet,
jiggly brain

out of the top of my skull,
and weigh it. Measure it
gently with calipers, clip
electrodes to sensitive nodes, run
a jolt through it! Through the lobes
and ganglia and then - jam the whole thing back in! Still
steaming - snap and clamp the braincase
back shut! Seal the scalp and skin, and pick at,
pull away the pink, shiny, cut-like seams -

Coming away from my forehead, wrinkling
and shrinking as they pull loose
like glistening Saran wrap, sticky -

Leaving gleaming smooth soft skin, soft pink
- no scars.

I dispose of the weird evidence.

No experiment has ever occurred.

Perfect.

"Fully Impaired"


Pardon my drunken eloquence
When things I say are too much meant,
and you don't know how much to spend
in trust

Yeah, that's me, I'm prone to blackest fits
of flirtatious
depression

but you taught my bad mood a lesson
with just a flip of
your expression, damn

I want you
Damn I want you
Damn, I want you now. Damn,
I want you. Damn, I want you
Damn - I want you now

Sway the way we do, and we will
always catch ourselves in time
swing a little farther out,
and barely just pull back in line

Just across the line a little -
barely get your tiptoes wet!

ooo that water's much too hot
but once we're in it's fine I bet

damn,
I want you
Damn I want you
Damn, I want you now. Damn,
I want you. Damn, I want you
Damn - I want you now

Pardon my drunken eloquence
when things I say make too much sense
and you've got all this consequence
in mind

But next to this

a jolt of truth

consequences look like lies

consequences, anymore
- I can't see them past your eyes

damn

I want you.

Friday, June 06, 2014

days of cold cereal

Here's something
I've gotten better at over the years:
pouring milk into a bowl of cold cereal.

And it's odd, because
in the old days of old, I ate cereal
and my skills never improved at all!

now that it's a rare treat, though
- step back!
Recognize the flaws
in my technique - correct them.

The world 'cereal'

derives from Ceres, a greco-roman
goddess-type figure
who if I remember my mythology
right, was known for being raped
by the god of dead people and,
one assumes,
also for eating a lot of cereal.
But there's a nutritious truth
behind these myths! Which is:

Cereal.

we had Corn Flakes, Grape Nuts,
all manner of Chex, Life,
Buck-Wheats (wherefore art thou,
Buck-Wheats?), Shredded Wheat, Mini
-Wheats, Wheaties, Branny
-O's, Cheerios, Raisin
Bran, and Cracklin' Oat
Fucks.

I'm barely scratching the surface - you name it.
Except: no cereal with sugar
as the first ingredient.

(No Cap'n Crunch, Boo-Berry, Lucky
Charms) for those we had to hold out
'til Grandpop and Grandmom's
- which made those visits special!

We went through so much sugar, I swear
I would fill my bowl heaped
to a height and a half
corn-flakes balanced like a stack of Jenga, then
pour the milk on down and through (flashing
and splashing at all angles!), the milk level up
to the brim of the bowl. When I finished the cereal,
there would still be a half-bowl of milk
and I'd say, "Damn. Well, I guess
I need to pour some more cereal in

And four, five more heaping tablespoons full
of sugar.

I still love cereal,
but I never put sugar on anything now.

Must be some difference
in a child's metabolism. Sugar,
at that growing age,
is just what the body needs
- and that message is sent to the brain
and received! And acted upon. Rightly
so.

The word 'sugar'
derives from Sugos, the ancient
Mesopotamian god of youthful exuberance,
and hyperactivity.

her higher power

A disembodied eye
sits in the sky
but not enormous -
only life-size, only
just

like one of ours.
Far up, and out
of sight
- and grayish-brown,
not even blue! Not idealized,
just someone's humble, human

eye

looks down
from miles above

and can't see you.

"More perils of the workplace,"

Sometimes a memo

just reminds us of what everything already is.

Occasionally,

there's some new procedure in there.

Tucked away. You have to read

closely,
before the message self-destructs.

adjustment

Die like you were never alive. Live
like you were never born. Breach
like you were never so much as conceived.
Take punishment like you were never once warned.

"getting better"


death's getting better,
and better, and best
make my plans now
for futures
that dwindle in size,
as the picture sinks inward, the black
edges round
like an altitude sickness
before you crash down

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

beautiful, and kind of sad

beautiful,
and kind of sad
like frozen mist making cheery-colored diamond shapes across treelit christmas morning windows,
in the bare and frozen dawn as you walk by on the sidewalk outside towards the empty bus stop where,
eventually,
each morning,
your destiny comes to pick you up.

sober revelations

I make all the same revelations sober
as drunk,
Just slightly
less tightly-focused,
perhaps. But yeah, that's
all the same kind of stuff

I am always going to tell anybody
who asks.

Except more focused, drunk
- because drunk tangents fly by
like dragonflies and lightning bugs
and the eyes of my mind can't chase
them to follow, so I plod forward
on one path instead of how
I would soberly proceed.

Sober, I'm like "well wait,
let's also take a moment to chase
THIS implication - it could form some small part
of how I'm trying to put the whole vacant lot
of all that I mean on this topic into words
that really pick out every weed, wildflower
and piece of busted brick!"

There is no broken glass.
I cleaned out all the broken glass.

It ain't that kind of vacant lot.

Thursday, May 15, 2014

explain away the sun

It's because of the vertices.
It's because of the slight
ellipses of the orbit, or
more accurately: the tilt
of axis that has us wobbling
in lockstep relative to

the sun.

This pisses the sun off,
to some degree, resulting
in SOLAR FLARES.

Basically at that point, the sun
becomes in everyone's eyes
and the only way out

is to go inside for a while
until it cools off. Sunglasses

can help you look cool,
too

Friday, May 09, 2014

Closure, Figure and Ground

And love is good despite its end,
which never justifies its means
its meanness, or its cruelty.
To end as friends,
or so it seems - and seeming was,
and is, and shall
be all there is
that we'll admit. We nail it down.
Our hands are held, on board, on point
- bang mallet hard, that peg will fit. And that is all
that we'll allow.

And that is all.

Until whatever happens now -
the picture hung in frame on wall

- has time to fall.

Tuesday, May 06, 2014

"Sick in Love"

there doesn't seem
to be a thing
that I can do

and you can see
I think you know, but
I'm not sure that you do

and you love me,
just not like that -
but sometimes it's like that, too

and we can see
but we can't tell
'cause when we combine
it gets way out of line, and
all our sense tense to quiver and dissolve
we just scare hell out of everyone involved, we are

sick
in love
you're sick
in love, with me
sick
in love - all of our life,
we've been sick in love
I'm sick
in love with you - sick
in love

we're just not alright

we threw away
important things
priorities

like mortgages
wedding rings
responsibilities

but we can't live
in love like that
where all that we've got is spent

the love you give
comes back to you
but the love that you save can't pay the rent,

when the ones who love you say
you've thrown it all away
we don't know where,
but we know we're gonna stay

sick
in love
you're sick
in love, with me
sick
in love - all of our life,
we've been sick in love
I'm sick
in love with you - sick
in love

we're just not alright,

we are
sick in love
you're sick in love with me
sick in love
all of our life, we've been sick in love
I'm sick in love with you
sick in love

we're just not alright

Immortality or Bust

Well, I think I'd like
to hang around as long as I can. I'd love
to see where we'll be in 500 years. It's
the surprise and the wonder
that make it so great
to behold
to see it unfold
all of it ours to have
and hold

Even assuming there's a heaven
where the scales will fall
from your eyes, and you understand
all the heart-piercing whys,
and you live forever in perfect, absolutely
perfect bliss, in paradise

- well, if so, it'll still be there
when I get there. If I do. Meanwhile,
this garden has and needs its weeds,
and some of them are beautiful.

I can't get enough of this.
I love this life.
Heaven's going to have to work
hard, to live up

to just what we can see in the light.

But I don't really want to be
immortal. I guess. Especially
if it means being essentially alone,
or continuously bereaved. I'm fine
with dying,

I fully intend - it's
the only thing on my bucket list. But

I love the view from here
where we stand,
where we lie down
in grass, at the top of a hill.

Still, it would be kind of cool
if it could be me and one other person
I loved. Both of us
could stay so long, I bet
we could make that work. I'm
totally fucking accommodating! As long
as I've got

a partner
who will meet me three-quarters of the way.

(I meet her seven-eighths.)

Monday, May 05, 2014

chemistry is the most important

I love chemistry! When I was a young man
they told me chemistry
was so important

- now that I'm older
I say yes, it is so. It's so, but it's more
than just so; it's so
so it couldn't even get any moreso! I think

chemistry is probably the single most important
thing in a relationship. I'm pretty much fluorine
emotionally, where chemistry's concerned that
element's a slut which I am too emotionally speaking
I will bond with anything, especially when I'm feeling
negative.

My best girl though aw she's a gas gas
gas but unfortunately - a little on the noble side
- still! Given enough oxygen it's all right now
in our jumpin' jack erlenmeyer flask -

with our bond pretty volatile, arguably
even unstable, but you couldn't ask
for stronger one, and as far as I'm concerned
it endures and it will endure. And

she's adorable, and Lord, I've lost track
of which electrons are hers and which ones
I'm just hanging on to for dear life!

Dear life,

how are you. Doin' fine? We're pretty much covalent
I guess is what I'm saying, but without that chemistry
that alchemy without that spark
of animal vegetable mineral electromagnetism -

I don't know even where we'd be

On the subjectivity of morality

So here's the thing,

bitches. You can't tell

right from wrong unless

you can also tell why.

Or what, how? Some
authority? (in which case
you DON'T know - you just
flip the buck up) some
dipshit absolutism? some
inscrutable gut hunch?

Get your fuckin' gut hunch

back out of my face, holmes

-- can't say why? Then you don't know. You

are one of the people for whom IT IS TRUE

that right and wrong are pure subjective

- and a cowardly brown stain on the seat of your pants.

Reason
can show its work.
But if your right
is right for no reason - you ain't
right.

Figure out your morality
first, before you presume to put it
on parade.

Correct.

Thursday, May 01, 2014

As to patience

I have all the patience of stars in their courses,
of vast cosmic forces so surging and sprawled
they can't even decide: at the end of it all,
shall we pull it all back, or just let it ride?

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Unreasoned Math

For a very long time now, well,
an eyeblink in geological terms; no wait,
a mudslide in geological terms? An eyeblink
in biological terms. A ring stained in wood,
in botanical terms. In relative terms,
a dead uncle.

In inverse cosmological terms, an eternity.
In terms of vague understatement: for a while.

For a very long time now,
there have been no reasons and
I see no reason to start having them
now. I have no truck with reasons. I
don't need to explain my reasons. I don't
cotton to those. You're not the boss of me,
but you are pretty boss I must admit, and
I need to do a better job, frankly.

No reason. It just feels like it.
Not even I feel. It feels.

I am going to go worry some people.

I will use fingers and possibly lips,
and possibly a soft lush brush of some
delicious variation in texture and sensation.
I will worry them deep inside. I will
worry them at their borders, at their edges,
at their fringes and see
if they fray.

If they do, I will claim the fault
for the idea, and vice-versa, and
I will refute each of those claims,
and I will do it easily, each in turn.
See what they have to think about that!

Feel what they have to taste about that.
Hear what they have to stink about that.
Smell what they have to say about that. Halitosis,
you see, and synaesthesia: an unbeatable combination
you can't get anyplace else but the human brain!
Or so we perceive dimly, as if
through a looking twice.

The human brain: a miracle of Intelligent
Evolution, now on sale for a song, for a steal,
for what that and a cup of coffee will get you,
which depending on the steal could be fine,
imprisonment,

I don't care

There have been no reasons
since I gave up that last cigarette,
and the one after that,
and the one after that.

Technically, I guess, what I'm giving up
is less the cigarette than the butt.

Are you surprised
that I would give up the butt?

I couldn't help it. My health
was at stake. To be honest,
what I miss most now was that smooth,
relaxing, satisfying flavor and you could say
this whole thing has gone South, not
even ventrally - which would not
be so bad! Which could be lovely,
depending on one's pet taboos
and the disparate acts and personal
variables of persons and attraction-math
that all add up (as far as you're concerned)
to the magic number 144 on your personal scoreboard:

Gross!

That's right, and you shouldn't be surprised.
I am running the dozens now. Ask your mother.
She will tell you the same damn score, and
give no reason. She isn't the whore

in this particular yo' momma joke, pimp. Look
in the mirror.

I am.

Monday, March 31, 2014

tat too

This tattoo is sweet: left full sleeve,
an interlocked design of lightning
and clouds in whites,
blues
and golds,
right full sleeve a contrasting design
in greens with white accents, bright
reds and dark browns: flaming rocks
(meteors, essentially), crashing
into white-crested Japanese waves! Upon my
upper back?

A bat-winged snake-dragon with curving horns!
His tail trailing in a sinuous line
down along and to each side
of my spine; across my upper torso
a golden-furred, eagle-winged snake
-dragon with a stained-glass halo.

He would have a golden crown. I have

the artist already on board. Hand-picked
on a recommendation (I was lucky
enough to get to see some of his handiwork
- which I LOVED), also I have
an undertaker lined up who owes me
a favor. She's on board with a living will
and a signed waiver, and she swears

as long as we wait two (2) days

before the artist starts, there will be
no redness or swelling at all. Which means
we are go for closed-casket,
- closed glass-casket -
and a shirtless burial. The casket
should rotate.

I'd be strapped in.

What do you think? What's
your stance on leather pants?

So why do you still?

So why do you still want me to
any of the things you want me to?

Yes, I have to accept that "because
it's fun," works as an answer. But

a gleaming sharp hook through the heart
is fun? Or is it just fun to watch? Maybe
the same thing isn't the same between

us. Could be it could be less fun for me
than it is for you. I mean, I know,

it's my fault and my lookout to draw the line
anywhere I don't want to go, so you

can jump across it. And it's my call to catch,
if you do - but why do you? And why do you
want to?

If I knew,

then I could decide
whether I still want to,
too.