rat dogs and shitty sparklers

poetry

six summers
ago in russia
we attempted to
celebrate the fourth
with firecrackers
and hot dogs
in a field of pale green weeping
willows. though
i enjoyed the
motherland rumor
has it the hot dogs
are made of rats
and the sparklers
just do not last.
thus, rat dog in
one hand, shitty
sparkler in the
other, i suddenly developed a
sense of patriotism.

a tribute to you – Robert Matthew Van Winkle

poetry

okay cease from moving
work with me and hear what i have to say
the frozen water has returned with
something completely innovative
there is a force which grips me firmly
i rap like an underwater hunting device
both in the sunlight and at dark (because it’s late)
i ask myself if it will cease
but i cant be sure eh?
to the hyperbole i roll the recording device
like a person who steals
illuminate the performance area
and cover in paraffin the suckers
like a times-past lighting device
move your body
use your booty to run at the noise making device that
has good solid bass.
i’m broiling your thinking organism
like peyote
death causing
when i create marijuana like music
at all subpar can send you to jail (on a federal level)
like it a lot
or dont
you had best make up a path
hit the middle of the target
the child wont have fun with you

if there was a disaster
eh, i’d be the relief
dig my groove while my
disc-scratcher turns it in circles

frozen water frozen water infant
frozen water frozen water infant
frozen water frozen water infant

(next week tune in for a tribute to Stanley Kirk Burrell)
cannot place your hands on said area
cannot place your hands on said area
cannot place your hands on said area
cannot place your hands on said area….

retrospectively, the poem as prophecy

poetry

there are times i sit here
reading of worlds and wondering
if i have ever known yours.
three years and can i say
i know what you’re thinking? or
finish your sentences with familiar
eloquence? sometimes i secretly
fear that i cannot especially
when i just end up cutting you off
from a thought diverging from,
say,
us.

Non Sequiturs

poetry

I hate people’s non sequitur comments

About poems I write with a deep core meaning

When people say, “I love your poetry”

But miss my point and don’t comment on that

I’d rather receive constructive criticism

That shreds apart my work, revealing every single flaw

Than be told “It’s great” and not be told “I understand what you mean”

thoughts and fears on the cusp of digestive breakdown

poetry

AKA: on my upcoming 3 day absence from the sieve

tight in my tummy
tight in my thoughts
i prepare myself for travel
with stomach knots

flying makes me grumpy
but new places i enjoy
thought control i’ll attempt
thanksgiving i’ll employ

i wish i could drink whiskey
without the stomach rot
i know it’d help me relax
and help me forget thought

thirty six hours is too long to travel
no matter where you go
but thankfully it wont take three months
like by an old boat – slow

i’ll put my head down and get there
no matter what i do
arrive there eventually
I WILL I WILL I WILL

indiscriminately edified against all odds

poetry

they set out to take on the
massive evil beast, grabbing hold of
tail
torso
back
neck
then the head

gasping for air
it blew forth fire

they searched for the fabled
weak spot between four
scales

but his strength outdid them all-
talons of six inches, eight inches, more
he grabbed them each and took to flight

flinging them against a mountain

but it was made of jello
this was their goal.

the universe

poetry

Scientists announced Tuesday that our love is expanding at an infinite rate. While this perpetual growth cannot be seen, it can be concluded based upon observable effects. For example, the wavelengths of Time Spent Not Thinking About Each Other (T.S.N.T.A.E.O.) are exponentially drifting further apart, resulting in an undeniable red shift. Three predictions regarding the fate of these findings have been put forth by the scientific community: 1. Our love will continue to expand infinitely; 2. Our love will continue to grow, but the rate at which it does so will slow and approach a limit; 3. Our love will eventually peak and then subsequently collapse in upon itself, creating a black hole from which even light cannot escape.