If I Were E.E. Cummings

"That mouse was a panzer tank and I was like, 'Whoa,' and stepped back."

                                                                             -Edward Hoeppner

let’s go said me
but why said he
because i want to said me
no matter said he

this isn’t a joke said me
i’m not laughing said he
but you’re me said me
who’s we said he

we?said he
indeed said me
make we said he
you must said me

i dare you said me-he
how?far said me
(too far said we)
i’ll do it said me

(i’ll bleed said we)
we’ll see said me
nevermind said he
leave now said me

(or what said we)
i’ll:i’ll said me
like i thought said he
!fuck!you said me

--you first said we
deep down said me
(down below(said he
nothing )makes confusion( said We.

In Winter

These trees have become so much more during this winter month.
With so little left of them
I begin to understand
or comprehend
or gain glimps.

Three seasons rotted off;
This is the nature of these trees and so many others.

I press flesh upon flesh to try to become apart of this.
But in this body I see it too.
There is a core in here
or a tree in this vessel
or a life force flowing.

Isn't it curious when it can be seen? In winter?
How much must be removed
for this to be shown
or be brought forth
or be imagined.

These branches are concrete. They are castles.
Hidden in a burst of birth and haze.
But today we can see them
or I can
or no one at all.

Are we any more real as ghosts?

Flesh-less? Like the winter?

A jigsaw rendering entertainment, remove my pieces and I am what?
Am I less; My shadows and dreams rotted?
What would a winter make of me?
or my winter ponder
or nothing at all.

While these trees,
Simply being,
Are so much more in winter.

Modern Thought

This phallus, standing ten feet tall,

devoid of any caress,

is a cannibalistic weapon

rather than an existential understanding.

Where is the man

In this orgy of mutilation?

Shrouded

I have missed the light between two snows
Failed to find the roughened diamond within a granular universe
So now I seek a You for reconciliation
The particulars of which are little concern

I attempt harmony with Gandhi
But am rather barraged with
Lowercase T's
Overlapped triangles
Sickle moons and pentagrams

              I have met Joseph Goebbels
              He is a man of Exacting Genius

All I have left are pages and pages
Which I must continue on with
So I may remind myself
Why I continue to breathe this air

A Fundamental Concern

We are kings within mountains.
Captains of its crevices and canals,
Tribunal of its tributaries.

From slow paced mannerism and lamentations: we wear down.
So close, side by side: a white cap ocean,
Becomes a rolling valley.

Our struggle to motivate one another,
Yet still unmoved: What now
Does it accomplish when we are weathered?

Us kings of mountains.
Our words: gabbled echo in the distance.
Our concepts: faint withered haze in still air.

With wisdoms and meanings and motivations still not followed,
Can us kings ever meet hand in hand
Upon summits so far apart?

It was the College that Killed Him

It was the college that killed him.
Looked him in the eye,
and told him no.

It was the college that betrayed him.
Told him to be quiet,
and forced him to go.

It was the college that lied to him.
Told him he could learn,
yet kept him at bay.

It was the college that scolded him.
For jumping ahead,
they got in his way.

For every book and lesson he struggled to gather,
A rule and a price is what they threw at the matter.

It was the college that maimed him.
Destroyed his desire,
and tore him to shreds.

It was the college that killed him.
Gave him diplomas,
and left him for dead.

Glorious Stones of Troy and Avalon

(In light of 'Shine, Perishing Republic' by Robinson Jeffers)

As this globe of icy mass continues its journey - through and
     down a snow laden path of richly paved frost - it is a
     consuming entity of individuals from which I wonder where
     and who the first few flakes were that made this pact.

All in well counted and exacting time it will reach its bottom
     river bed, gloriously silencing itself in melting by the hand of
     its own primordial constituents.

Weep and fear not, unnamed kings, for the table of nobles leaves
     always room for a next, fast minded visionary to see through
     the means and endless end.

Need only a drop of water; the sands of institution be shaped
     once more, oh glorious stones of Troy and Avalon.

And when the glee of the young dawns once again I will leave my
     reservations on the porch as an old rifle of protection.

For the beach castles are already en route to cities. They are
     still just... child’s toys in my eyes; temperaments of
     adolescence.

There will be little need for reeducation as the trade from
     tyrant to nun would all the same be oppressive, lest I presume
     the definition of a better life for all.

Rather... let’s play together in the structure we’ve so proudly
     assembled and enjoy fruits for the sake of fruits’ sake.

My musing observations are content enough, for now, that
     miserable understanding is always a more colorful portrait
     than blind bliss.