All is Fair, They Said

When the two of them repaired the Cadillac

and took it for a ride

their colleagues remembered

why there were no rules to begin with

The Smore's Life

I roasted my intentions on an open fire
Fluffy desires turned into something else
Set aflame and gone black and ashy
Until I couldn't really recognize them anymore

I took them and smashed them
Against the stale and crusty expectations of old generations
Not really compatible with much of what I have
And against a wall of foregone romance and marriage
Excessively sweetened to hide its inevitable bitterness

Staring at the cataclysm
I was rather surprised
Disgusting as it looked
I still managed to taste the intentions left within

What a hoot the smores life has been

Remembering Emotive

So if you cut me do I bleed?

If you hit me do I fall?

Could you explain to me again

How these travesties unfold?

'Cause you see it's been a while

Since I have lived in denial

So I beg you, don't get angry

At my swollen feet of gangrene

I don't usually walk in mud.

So if you slap me do I ache?

If you shoot me do I die?

Is that how this is supposed to go?

'Cause I really can't tell if I'm terrified

Is this where I warn you of the danger?

And then treat you like a stranger?

Or do I sit and apologize?

And forgive you for those little lies

Again... sorry I'm so out of practice.

So what am I to do right now?

Or should I say, "back then?"

Though looking back as I write this

The end was far from clandestine

Addict America

She is the most beautiful I've ever seen
None can deny it
Her frame marvelously crafted
Both vacant and skeletal
Perfected for its means

Her face a flush red from the white snow which falls from the endless blue

Her vision Crystal in Method
Her wit a mechanism of genius
Capable of nearly nothing
Beautiful.

I embrace her at my bosom
We'll prance about Jerusalem
Suckle upon the forbidden since we're damned anyway

I would make love to her in the most exquisitely gruesome manner
But fear I may ruin her image

There will be blood

Were I not so grappled by her awe
And her green; greater than hash
Both burnable and spendable
I might rightfully fear what she could birth

There will be blood

If only I could share union with her and her heroin adventures
The beautiful soldier
For she is the superlative of her companions
Best designed and most deathly
Controllable by substance

There will be blood

For Those of Us

who bled ink from bandaged hands
it will undoubtedly be our curse to know
that blood is mistakingly understood as
the primal force of vitality which flows
and culminates into the homogeneity that is man.

Share with me a lamentation for our black ink's
untouched rocks and crucifixes and the bandages
that have in fact ruined us through healing.

Welcome my ghostly poet comrades.

A Religion for Metropolis

He was not born
but made of the city.
And when he walked,
a sum and in spite of it,
the Scholars of Cass (1) cried success.
While the Sodomites screamed heresy,
and we gazed on in apathy.

He jest of the Sodomites,
and the kings who cried rape,
while he adorned their cloaks and furs.
We sat and played cards, he and I,
shared stories of our own rape,
consoled Slaves to Greatness
and I envied his inabilities.

The Sodomites splayed him out
and demanded: "Testify!"
He was the Jesus of Detroit
Shepard and savior of the Projects (2)
Martyr of Georgia,
and breathed on his third day.
He was the progress of all failure.

And when he became a man,
I shed not a single tear.
Decadence was in his name
this man made of slaves,
and urban stone.

1.) Cass Tech     2.) Chicago

On Forever Time

On forever time

with clementines

we watched the world go 'round.

With trembling fears

then giggling cheers

we knew it could never be found.

Definition

When I came across it,
Curiosity was first.
How complex it was
I must comprehend it.

But when I checked,
It wasn't in the dictionary.
I wanted to taste its words,
Listen to its symphony,
And then dissect,
But it wasn't even there.

How come books are so square anyway?
Were the fibers and ink so stiff themselves,
that they demanded a being?

I'd rather they be served as is.
Might then I would swim to any black pool I so please,
And construct the lines as i best see fit to grapple with.

I despise these shapely things.
They might as well be circles.
Damn the dictionaries.
-----useless things.
Because I checked,
And it wasn't even there.

Reasons for Elation

"How was your Valentine's Day?"
I was asked.

I replied:

"It was inexorably phenomenal
The sun rose and set exactly when it was supposed to
Each hour of the day was identically as long as the one before
And there was precisely twenty-four hours in it."

In every sense of the word
The passing of Valentine's Day
Was Perfection."

How glad I am to have had an opportunity
To live in this universe.

Inspired by Others

This will not be kind

It will not be blind

The paradigm will be resolved with a purposeful mind.

I have seen the end

With a wide angle lens

It will be gone in seconds.

The aeon's replete

With a sort of defeat

But today we won't buy into this motif.

Because it wasn't born here

Or in a far away there

But this time in the hearts of Everywhere.

I have seen the end

With a wide angle lens

And it will make up for the previous dead.

The Necessity

This furnace has dwindled too long.
Time's appropriate for a reignite.
The cold mass must to be hot within,
In order for anything worthy to come of this.
It must be pine;
Oak burns too slow.
So let the dry needles roar,
And let the process obliterate most of what goes in.
It may be a waste.
Everyone around feels the heat.
But don't let them step in,
Or they'll end up like most of what comes out;
A sundering cinder of freckled sparkles,
That die in seconds.
Give it a few hours,
Days,
Decades,
Fuck who knows...
Until the pine is burned up,
And we have a piece of coal to draw with.
The markings will stay on the walls forever.
If not,
Then there's a mass of iron in the corner,
Hard as it was before,
Cold forever.
It may be a waste.
But throw in the pine anyway,
We need the coal.

Respect Those Elders

Perhaps I was wrong from the beginning
There is no axiom for valid
Or is? Let's talk purpose

I watched him
For so many years
I am still watching

Click n' Click
Game n' Game
Tick n' Tick your life away
I say

Wake up you bastard
Before life falls short of the ninth board
What about the rest of it?
I wanted to say

It was none of my business
Life is for one
So don't you dare
She told me

It's by our design
And who are you to say?
That this is the best design?
Another asked me

Well I guess that's that
Points taken
I'll not scream too loud to get this across

Some will build the bricks
Others will lay the roads
No lots were cast for him
This was all opted for

He and I will will never truly talk though
So as I pack my bags
I'll be sure to pay respect at the current exchange rate,
On my way out

This is Exactly How it Happened

As I was driving across a bitter highway
I entered a blue haze
Which upon further inspection was seen
To be a cloud of dry snowfall

It was here that I realized
That I must take this paradigm of mine
And transform it, consiously
Into something else that I could more easily manage
Regardless of the fact
That I would be ignoring a particular reality

As I tried to utter this in my mind
To create a new piece of literature
I realized that poetry is the pathetic attempt
Of self-short-handed men and women
To place themselves above the people around them
By expressing their thoughts
In gramatically incoherent mummbling
And claiming this failure to use language properly
As a lisence of the artistic
Only further proving their incompetency

I then came home
And several hours later
I wrote this

This is exactly how it happened.

Roses of Rome

I remember once stumbling upon the pebbles of Rome,

And trying to recall why rose petals tasted so good.

Is it their flavor?

Or do their thorns make them a worthy meal?

I suspect it is the pigment.

As much as it may fade, it never washes out.

And with a little time,

We have ourselves an entirely new sweater to wear.