Isn't it a tragedy?
Calamitous amnesty,
displayed unabashedly,
much more than it has to be.
Exasperated massively,
I gamble nothing, passively,
my spinal cord unfastening,
mastered moments vanishing.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Poems and Prose #94 - Glib
It might be somewhat disconcerting to learn,
at first, that ice is cold and fire burns,
and that a finite solution is often hard to discern,
what with loud and lonely, masked advisors
hopping uniformly up and down in an effort to be heard.
But if this has not been prior said, let me be the first:
A bladder full of urine is just as good as thirst,
a beaten, broken watch tells as well as one that works,
and a litany of facial modes show the same as slimy smirks.
at first, that ice is cold and fire burns,
and that a finite solution is often hard to discern,
what with loud and lonely, masked advisors
hopping uniformly up and down in an effort to be heard.
But if this has not been prior said, let me be the first:
A bladder full of urine is just as good as thirst,
a beaten, broken watch tells as well as one that works,
and a litany of facial modes show the same as slimy smirks.
Poems and Prose #93 - Sophistry
Fettered by festering fetishes,
a realist, remembering, relishes;
a solipsist savors his selfishness;
and I entertain any embellishments.
In dwelling on this,
are we misfits?
Or merely sand grains
dripping through a closed fist?
Or perhaps, in unison,
we should all just admit
to enjoying the savory
smell of bullshit.
a realist, remembering, relishes;
a solipsist savors his selfishness;
and I entertain any embellishments.
In dwelling on this,
are we misfits?
Or merely sand grains
dripping through a closed fist?
Or perhaps, in unison,
we should all just admit
to enjoying the savory
smell of bullshit.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Dialogue #10
(+) Your drink's on the house.
(-) Good to hear,
or else your bed'd be
under the house.
(-) Good to hear,
or else your bed'd be
under the house.
Mental Blips #8 - Summit
Incongruent confluences
of conspicuous consumption
make this capitalist wince uneasily,
atop this twisted pile of garbage.
of conspicuous consumption
make this capitalist wince uneasily,
atop this twisted pile of garbage.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Poems and Prose #92 - Hyperbola
Complicating matters
synchronize in pulsing fits
of swift, gyrating patterns.
Mathematically, of course,
it's quaint indeed to feel remiss,
but sinful, aye, to clutch remorse.
And having seen these jots,
haphazard as they are, and crisp,
the world's equations find no loss.
Fecund words now gather mold,
the darkened room damp with spit,
and I embrace this curling fold.
synchronize in pulsing fits
of swift, gyrating patterns.
Mathematically, of course,
it's quaint indeed to feel remiss,
but sinful, aye, to clutch remorse.
And having seen these jots,
haphazard as they are, and crisp,
the world's equations find no loss.
Fecund words now gather mold,
the darkened room damp with spit,
and I embrace this curling fold.
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