I often begin my poems right here
directly inside of this box
this "body"
and I think that it's really the only way
to put out things I like
It's fresh and raw
and a little bit squishy
but that's okay
some people really like squishy
here I am in this squishy little body
this raw poetry
the only time I will ever like this poem
is when I can still feel the salt
crusting over on my squishy cheeks
and I've never found it so difficult
to type out the word "squishy"
so many times in a row
my face feels so crusty
but at least it will taste nice
to a passerby who may happen to lick it
I often regret poems
but this one is squishy
and some people like squishy
so I guess I like squishy.

Earthquake Poem
3/5/2014

What do you suppose an earthquake does?

Sure, there are the shakes and scares,
Seismic shifts accompanied by tectonic tears.
But ditch this global perspective,
Figure out what rips those ripples, detective.

Let’s see you pound at the ground.
Hit it hard, ‘til you hear a heavy sound.
Is that enough to fissure some asphalt?
Tell me, could you bring this spinning planet to a sudden halt?

I can’t say for sure, what an Earth-quake does.
Though I’ve been a victim,
Earth isn’t where my quake was.
An Earth-less earthquake,
On a planet whose name I’ve learned to forsake.

Wynn’s world wandered ‘round someone else’s orbit:
Drawn to its gravity like grapes grow on a vine;
Brightened by its solar system’s shining smile, so divine;
Emotional tides tugged in and out;
Guided by its mysterious moon’s midnight meandering about.

That’s right – an orbit with its own time flow.
Time that could stomp its heels and steal a spotlight,
Time that could manipulate a moment like jello, mayonnaise, or some other squishy substance,
Time that could crash course, while standing still,
Time that could reveal something you never knew.

What do you suppose an earthquake does?

A quake could be anything that makes you shake.
Think of quaking in fear, as an unknown figure draws near.
Think of a jittery heart, that’s been bit by a bullet.
Internal tears,
think of organs bleeding,
Think of needing,
solid ground,
but falling and time keeps stalling.

When a quiet little quiver promises to deliver,
its slight shock signal straight through the middle.
When a molten magma core fizzes its manic madness,
like a shaken soda.
When an epic eruption carries out its upward excelsior,
Rejecting the spinning without a stop.

Oh, the mountains will tumble,
The hills and valleys, they’ll crumble,
And gurgle in the raging rivers’ rumble,
As volcanoes churn out violent bubbles,
Stirring up all kinds of troubles,
For one person’s personal planet.

For one person’s personal planet,
These violent forces of nature can’t compare to an Earth-quake,
When the ground you stand on begins to break,
When you realize your senseless stability is fake.
When that little quake knocks your Earth awake,
It’s reality coming alive to take, and take, and take,
Because for love, you put everything at stake.

What do you suppose an earthquake does?
I’ll tell you – it leaves a wrecked world with a cracked core and scorched surroundings.
Just because.
Just because, love on Earth always comes with a quiet little quake.

One day
Woke up feeling randy
No one else was handy
What's to do?
Get dressed
Satisfy the horn
With badly acted ****
On pay per view
Hopes sink
Cable's on the blink
But twitter lends a helping hand
Bang, bang, come and have a *******
Gain entrance on demand

Have a *******
Come and have a *******
It's a *******
Come and have a *******

Went out
Followed the directions
Battling erections
All the while
Red cheeks
Granny at the bus stop
Let her vision drop
Then cracked a smile
Half four
Knocking at the door
It opens and a voice proclaims
"Bang, bang, come and have a *******
We've far too many dames"

The host was a sight to see
Not far over seventy
And wrapped in a silk dressing gown
I thought I would walk away
But saw that the sky was grey
And it star-
-ted *******
It down

Stepped in
Blinded by a deep gloom
Ushered to a dark room
Curtains shut
Deep breath
Air is old and musty
Carpet feeling crusty
Underfoot
Sprawled there
Women lying bare
And fellas with their organs free
Bang, bang, cover up your ****, ****
Regain your decency

Pretty *******
Pretty ****** *******
****** *******
Pretty ****** *******

Look round
Writhing on the ground
With squishy little sounds
But something's odd
Fat lass
Itching at her *** crack
Isn't that a *******?
Oh my god!
Jaw drops
Granny from the bus stop
Wearing nothing but a grin
Bang, bang, pretty ****** *******
What ******* let her in?

She's nothing but skin and bone
With ribs like a xylophone
At least several decades too old
To use the vernacular
It's like bumming Dracula
She's wiry
She's wizened
She's cold

Oh (pretty) no (******)
Rasping on my ****
With fingers like a sock
Filled up with ice
No (scary) chance (hairy)
Giving her the slip
My todger's in a grip
Just like a vice
It (saggy) seems (baggy)
Like she's in a dream
While scraping with her ancient hand
Bang, bang, ****** ****** *******
My sore and swollen gland

Granny bang bang
Granny granny *******
Granny *******
Granny ***** *******

Knock, knock
Coppers at the door
Go crawling on the floor
And off at speed
What fun
Looking at the punters
Myriad of munters
As they flee'd
Cold, wet
Drowning in regret
With trousers round my knees I stand
Bang bang ****** ****** *******
Next time I'll use my hand
Bang bang ****** ****** *******
Next time I'll use my haaaaaaaaaaaaaaand!

People, they just ain't all golden, not at all.
Not even silver, magnesium or copper.
Maybe zinc, because it tastes like ink and it does your body good,
but you never get enough, even though you know you should.
But had I the means, and the ends were understood,
would I be zinc? Would I carry the common good?
Would I feign precious metal? Or am I nothing but wood?
I met today aluminum, he said, "I'm bad luck."
"I know it," I said, "You're out of your element."
"My melting point is 660.2°C!"
I told him my name was Kristian Huselius,
but that turned into a testament.
"You're just lucky you aren't a duck," he said.
"Maybe, but I find I've got too much will."
"You can't spread will on bread, my friend,"
he said, much to my Brazil,
"but lucky for you they make contraceptives in pills."
I didn't want children anyway, but when Boron arrived,
I was feeling less than sublime.
Boron said, "My name rhymes with '*****'!"
"No kidding, Boron," I replied.
"I can come in both the dark crystal and brown powder variety!"
"That may or may not be true," said Aluminum,
"but at least I benefit society."
Oh, yeah, he said it, he went there.
"I value correctness and propriety!" Boron shrieked.
"And you can be flimsy, squishy, and weak!"
I wanted no part in this, so I meandered.
Not too long after, I met Helium.
I told him my name was Carlton Deandre.
"I don't believe you, mealworm," he bombasted.
"You're gaseous," I said, "I wouldn't put it past ya."

Goodbye my beloved
my best friend
my cartoon strip
my spicy blend
my confidant'
my story-teller too
my source of bliss
my beautiful you
Goodbye my soulmate
my aggravation
my dewey tears
my joyous elation
my dark devil
my saving knight
my funky mixed salad
my angel in white
Goodbye my jellybean
my every color
my brilliant star
my only stellar
my addictin high
my curvy wurvy road
my far away companion
my emotional garbage load
Goodbye my truck driver
my ever pessimist
my deep sad poet
my christmas list
my squishy hug
my dictionary
my thesarus too
my harry-carry
Goodbye my healing crystal
my happy thought
my **** dreams
my man I have not
my heaven on eath
my hell here too
my disneyland
my passion that grew
Goodbye my mysterious moon
my brick wall
my favorite song
my bounce to the ball
my craziest joke
my sun in winter
my dirtiest thought
my fantasy reader
Goodbye my phone friend
my tug of war
my fleshy goosepimples
my bird that soars
my bright lightening
my roaring thunder
my white rose
my hopes down under
Goodbye my perfect lover
my satin sheet
my carribean vacation
my favorite treat
my majestic mountain
my green thumb
my cycle rider
my last crumb
Goodbye my first spring rain
my catalyst
my curious dreamer
my lemon twist
my catch of the day
my white cloud
my emotional abyss
my cake upside down
Goodbye my only you
my hopeless dream
my love of loves
my everything

brain is lonely
wanting to just burst out of its shell
and show the world its potential  

brain is scared
what if world denies brains offer
because brain is so confidential

brain wants peace
inside its world wars never end
and words are as powerful as bombs

brain is now numb
all the explosions dull the physical pain
yet brain has forgotten how to feel calm

brain is a convincing actor
always knowing how to play its part
in every passing situation

brain does not like acting
instead brain wants to be fluffy cotton ball
not moist squishy thought deformation

brain wants sleep
to be able to shut off at appropriate times
and have enough energy to even try

brain is sad
never getting enough of anything
and sometimes brain considers to die

the only thing i can explain, is loving you.

the only thing is dreaming.
is feeling, that wheeled feeling of knowing what love was.

it started with an awkward hug.
it ended with an awkward hug.


i took you to the river. held your hand to the washed and out. breathed the smoke of your body into lungs of new days and danced to thoughts of escaping the empire with you forever. so forever. waited while you biked into far-fetched and distance places. american girl. beautiful creature. creature tessellating; growing; enhancing into a starry-stepped woman. i leaned on you, made you stumble to walk. now most days i stop myself from calling you. the space. the only thing that ever made me so dizzy, so good, was the space between us when truly together. close. utterly as one. wrote poems about you before i even met you, like a dream girl, like a premonition, which you were, a dream girl, a preconceived notion of one and only love. and there probably will be none other. none other. because i fell in love with you long before i even knew how to say it. never really knew how to say it. blurted it. bled it and yelled it and dreamt of it endlessly.


[still dream of it. endlessly.]


slow down, slow town, taking minutes. city of trees. city of good and bad and a little love that grew and bloomed and boomed before our eyes and died. and perhaps dead isn’t enough. reanimate. zombify. walk the dead. the dead and idaho life is american dreaming, drunk. us humans walking, texting, breathing, dancing. i would pinch your ***, smack your ***, so silly, so object, so mammalian and animal and bad on my part. sorry about that. but then again i loved your ***. still, sorry. you deserved more. deserve more. more to the picture. and i love your smile. your deep sweep of happiness. could devour me whole with just one laugh. and this is all so stupid, you probably hate me by now, somehow, seeing as you disappeared into thin air and here i am writing this bombast of love lost and still plan on sending it to you by mail or carrier-pigeon in hopes of simply expressing something. texas chainsaw massacre 2. totoro and the miniature crystal glands of rips or roars or sour patch sprinkles. burnt underwear. that stream of consciousness sweet beating block of love you ink-stamped to old paper with some kind of fierce spirit, just love, i love, and can’t help but love you so ******* much all over and over again, even if you broke my heart. the heart is strong that way. or i am simply doomed that way.


howling. howl. imbue. rimbaud. & urizen. kien. class, and when we skipped a day or two, once or twice, to make-out by the river. true beginnings. rock piles and bonobos.
my kind of woman.

you loved me before anybody loved me.
and i loved you, because there was no other way.
lost that somewhere. somehow.
life and days taken for granted.
and i’m the fool.
the stoner peeling off layers of clothing
as i prepare to be blood-sacrificed before the ancient ones.
while you are the girl.
the girl who made me forget what death is.
the girl with that last blunt.

                   new soul, spelled in crayola crème.
                   new summer, spoken then lived.

                   you were the love
                   of my life.
                   plucked my heart like
                   squishy fruit.

                   we once turned night
                   into paintings & poems,
                   particulates of
                   a golden time gone by.

Cold wind, warm sun,
Contrasting sensations,
Playing on my bare skin.
Bare feet, soft grass,
Refreshing and nice,
Urging to step forward.
Soft clouds, blue skies,
Looking down on me,
Watching and waiting.
Giant mountains, dry hills,
Waiting patiently,
For me to take a step.
Crystal water, brown mud,
My naked body reflected,
With sky, clouds, and hills.
Cold water, colder toes,
As my foot slips gently,
Oh so gently into the water.
Squishy mud, pure water,
Sliding between my toes,
So natural and so pure.
One foot, two feet,
Mud up to my ankle,
Water rising up my calves.
One step, two steps,
I walk out away from the bank,
The water getting deeper and deeper.
Deeper water, higher water,
The passes my knees,
Slowly moving up my calves
Goose bumps, tingling flesh,
As the cold water rises,
Reaching bare places used to warmth.
Cold water, cold wind,
My arms held close,
Wrapped around my *******.
Pausing, waiting,
As I build up courage,
For what I will do next.
Breathe in, breathe out,
I brace myself,
As I quickly drop down in.
Frozen flesh, rippling waves,
My legs out in front,
My naked body in to my neck.
Shivering body, force of will,
I wait as long as I can,
Before rising back to my feet.
Squishy mud, freezing wind,
I walk as fast as I can,
Through mud and hip high water.
One foot, two feet,
I climb onto the bank,
Shivering in the autumn wind.
Towel spread, body spread,
I set shivering,
Letting the warm sun bath me.
Warming sun, drying sun,
I lay there content,
The heat and nature comforting me.

Cotton Candy Man Poem
(6/7/2014)

He was simple sugar,
spun on hot air,
soaked in pink,
a tasty treat.
He was cotton candy.

I would wrap him around my finger,
like I could coax a ring out of sugar and thin air.
To have felt him melt in my mouth,
each time the tip of my tongue got a taste.
He was cotton candy.

He was a carnival with all the best attractions.
but balloon darts pop when you pour enough money into the game.
but a dunk tank is just a plunge into shallow depths, a break from the sun.
but elephants should be free, not tamed by fire and humans' greedy desire.
but a clown without their makeup might as well be a less creepy comedian.
but won over stuffed animals are just like cotton candy,
a squishy substance when you need a stable solid.

Step right up!
Spotlight on the star of our circus show,
see the cotton candy man.
His heart made of sugar,
a toxic substance.
His breath's brevity enough to set off cotton candy's chemical reaction,
scorching hot air against pink paint,
there is nothing sweet about being spun.

Dyed in bright colors to deliver a warped reality,
he was seemingly a healthy vibrant,
unlike the poison within.

He was cotton candy,
and I, a circus ******,
craving him, freshly spun.

it's this passion, baby
passion gets old
it gets tired and
i, i, i feel tired. the lights are beginning to blur out of focus. i haven't felt much like myself lately. oh dear, where've i wandered off to again?

please. please take this squishy heart out of my soft chest.
i am so tired of its incessant beating. i try telling it to calm down and it never really listens. stupid thing.
please oh please take this anxious brain out of my heavy head.
i am exhausted from the way it tears me down. tears me to shreds. makes me cry.
everything inside me is against me.

if i could wish for one thing
it would be to stop feeling
for just one second.
i am so tired of feeling every little thing. every silent second.
every tick of the clock. empathy is not what i signed up for. get it out get it out

but when i feel everything i want numbness and when i'm numb i want to feel it all and i am never content with my lot and i think far too much and yes yes i have already thought that out and yes it ended badly for me it always does and yes i have thought about that too and yes it ended with me on the floor and won't you just turn my ******* brain off won't you just make it stop i don't want to feel any more i am so tired of feeling everything i need to make it all stop i just want to be numb to it all i don't want to feel i don't want to feel and i feel like a child

and what do i feel before i fall asleep?
all the what ifs and could've beens that drive me to insanity.

I used to be friends with the sun
He was older than I was
Naturally he filled in that father spot that sat empty under the spot light
We used to go on adventures through the woods
We got lost in muddy Nikes and crossed clipped overalls
We'd come back to my house and share peanut butter glossed over graham crackers
Drinking milk, we were middle aged Irish men, this was our whiskey
He'd teach me how to make ants my humans as I played the part of God
Until the mountains would call him home
I asked if he could stay longer
The horizon never allowed it
Never holding a grudge
Even as he left, he painted the sky with orange grace and pink beauty

Run home

Take a bath

Get out quickly
Feel the squishy carpet beneath your toes
A carpeted bathroom was an awful idea
Dry off and zip up that onesie
Pull back those blinds
The moon is waiting
She'd help me sleep at night
Gripping onto that teddy bear that I've had since I was born
She'd talk to me about life's problems
I wasn't even ten yet, so there really wasn't that much to talk about
I'd drift off to her soft voice
I rested easy with her brushing my cheeks, a mothers hand made of reflected light

It's been years since those days
I'm 18 now
My favorite time of day is twilight
There is no Sun
There is no Moon
There is only peace
The heat of the sun leaves the day
The reflection of the moon yet to land on the surface of the creeks on my cheeks
I am crying

If you look closely, there is a time of day
Where the sun and the moon
Are but inches apart
If you squint your eyes
You will see the distaste in the rays on your skin

The moon now refuses to speak about the sun
She says the words burn her lips hot with anger
Their love was once visible, heating our atmosphere
Space and stardust have come between them, turning them cold
The sun is close to smothering
I am close to smothering

I am a comet
My parents are the Sun and the Moon
I orbit between them delivering news from point frustration to point disappointment
I am frustrated and I am disappointed
I miss when Sola and Luna could share the same sky
I miss when they could speak without arguing
I miss seeing them smile in the same room... I mean sky...
I wish my Father and Mother could speak without anger
You both created three beautiful children
Neither of you can look at the other

I'm not asking for my parents to be back together
I am no fool
I am a comet
Wishing for the Sun and the Moon
To speak with compromise

These bangs make me look up
Already make eye contact,
like a boss
Friend days "sup?"
I say "wuddup?"
I hear "go hard"
What does that mean?
Do your best
Through what I see,
It is keep on keeping calm
And keep on singing songs.
Whatever makes you happy
Corny as ****, whistle a tune
Not give a ****, or a ****
Or a promise
Viewed from your lips
If that's what it is, ****.

Let's go skate, I'll  meditate
Everyday, against a current
Staying strong and keeping along
In the present day
What do you all say?

Fall asleep on a still ocean
Wake up on a cloud
Still dreaming
Wake up on a star
Almost there
In the darkness

Open my eyes and I finally see planets, galaxy
around me

Whatever makes you happy
In your dreams and overcame fears.
Never stopping 'til the heart is content, transpired peacefulness through energy.

When sleeping, my hair is up above me
If this is when I am free in the end...
Hair cut? Thinking so, why not?
Allow it to go because it'll be too hot to touch the shoulders
Longing to be with the fresh palm trees,
Fresh springs and great eat.
Frizbees, mountains, deserts heat is where I need to be.
Squishy feeling
underneath my feet.
and again more trees
Keeping me on my way
Trucking' along
Singing more songs
in the summer's rain
Tap dancing and I'm gone.

What is truth?
That's an easy question
Actually, that's in a different demention, with words spinning around it, like a universe.
From chest, lips to ear, the hearer is not relating from the original scene.
You "had to be there" moment is what's very keen to truth.
The truth is inside of you.
That means that you and I or me and you, don't know what its like, inside each others life.
But here I am
And there is you
First site may be the end to some
But judge not because I am just one
"I am a Soul and Have a body"
A wise man Gar, once said.
I know we go on
there is no end.
Live life to the fullest
If not Yolo was dead...
Plenty of lives ahead
To the top of a pyramid
Of whatever we are
A cookie crum lost in space
The light of a burnt out star

Anything is possible
Dream among the starts
Is said because we are the sky

Our roots hold us down
Pressing soil away
Growing through the pain
Rocks as anchors
Til they are ripped away
The once hurtful thing
Getting in the way
Grasping on and taking hold
Foundation for home
Up-rooted and move
"It goes on" a poet once said
So I say, look ahead.
Life may be fast but it's not short
Choose a path to walk, grow, learn,love, glow.

Biology:
It is in your garden, the way you fertilized your soil
through the help of those little squishy Earth worms
and other organic fertilizers
like leftover decomposing food
Either it was for planting ornamental plants
to decorate your dull backyard or
it was for planting your favorite vegetables
to make your family healthy and save money!

come come on, mix in the copernican twist, with some greek to boot, esp. on no. 7, with gamma; let's just say i've heard enough muslims talk, that we europeans owe them the genesis of numbers.*

what are the odds that the number 8,
didn't actually originate from
either arabic or hindu -
but from the humble B?

what are the odds that the number 1,
didn't actually originate from
either arabic or hindu -
but from the humble I?

what are the odds that the number 9,
didn't actually originate from
either arabic or hindu -
but from the humble P?

what are the odds that the number 6,
didn't actually originate from
either arabic or hindu -
but from the humble b?

what are the odds that the number 2,
didn't actually originate from
either arabic or hindu -
but from the humble Z?

what are the odds that the number 5,
didn't actually originate from
either arabic or hindu -
but from the humble S?

what are the odds that the number 3,
didn't actually originate from
either arabic or hindu -
but from the humble E?

what are the odds that the number 7,
didn't actually originate from
either arabic or hindu -
but from the humble L?

what are the odds that the number 0,
didn't actually originate from
either arabic or hindu -
but from the humble O? (squishy squishy,
sit on it, the omicron is practically
a cushion) -

what are the odds that the number 4,
didn't actually originate from
either arabic or hindu -
but from the humble R?

what's the remainder from the roman hydra?

M X V D C -
which in terms of a.d. gives us the year:
MDCXV, the year 1615...
  whatever the hell that means.

Yes, mechanical leaf mover,
create the shrillest sounds known to man.
See if it doesn't just slowly make the world a ******* place
by taking away the joy of crunchy leafs,
which gradually become moist, squishy leafs,
then, after a long period, emerging from a snow covering
thaw and lie there, fully exposed, recumbent,
depriving the dormant seed of grass its sunlight, preventing grass,
freeing up water for infrastructure needs more urgent and rational
than supporting the most boring of decorative plants encompassing our lives.

I guess what I'm saying is that, not only are your sounds annoying,
they're just another of the short-sighted endeavors our present society insists on.
You are the "circumcision-for-hygiene-purposes" of our urban planning.

*******, leaf blower. ******* and the excruciating environmental ignorance you represent.

I SAID *******, LEAF BLOWER, YET YOU PERSIST!

You need to let that leafy-******* grow,
covering the shaft of ground.
Rid it of the pleasure-impeding growth of grass!
Let the earth cry out for the sensation of tiny points of pressure
moving delicately along its surface.
Let the ground erupt with wild flowers, or at the very least,
the trampled exuberance of plodded soil
and the desperate levels of human debris that would collect upon it.

Or are you trying to hide our wastefulness from us by removing something
which is nothing, a nothing, invisible barrier?

You've already succeeded in giving my apartment complex the ambience
of an industrial production complex
which I suppose it always was.
Maybe your attempt at concealment
has been a revelation.

Or maybe I just can't think straight,
because there's been a god-**** leaf blower
circling below my window all morning
and now a heavy, riding lawn mower is coming to cut the grass
that hasn't grown since September
but has been watered every day
even though it froze last night
and it's almost November.

Arctic and Pure
cups emptied of Western laziness
gratis
Sapphire tears and sparkling beams
gathered from the fields
shining Pez and elecution exercises
Hey Miss, Tell me something
a poem
about everyplace
no fooling, You're so serious
and the serfs of the modern hovels are well behaved
and none
fleshen bodies
heads full of squishy wishes
consumme
my amusement is like a panacea
a corporeal healing
Flying who-I-haven't-people
someone down in my
constant solar blaze,
one who I devote all clear evidence
all the right answers,
fairness
Ignorance always harms our potential
reveal deaths inconsequence and void
flying through tunnels
creating opportunities for life.

She's strong and wise and sticky fingered
She's squishy and smart and colourful and fun
She's small and quick and shiny
And she's gonna find herself in
Being free

Dear Marc (like cheese),
Your hair is soft (like cheese),
Your bed smells cool (like cheese),
Your chin is squishy (like cheese).

I like your basement (like cheese),
I like your drums (like cheese),
I like the ground (like cheese),
I like bubble pipes (like cheese).

Your socks are black (like cheese),
Your eyes are blue (like cheese),
Your hair is yellow (like cheese),
Your floor is carpet (like cheese).

You like cabbage poems (like cheese),
You like play station (like cheese),
You like cigar smoke (like cheese),
You like chocolate (like cheese).

I like your style (like cheese),
I like that you dance (like cheese),
I like your childishness (like cheese),
I like Pokemon (like cheese).

You are tall (like cheese),
You are white (like cheese),
You are my friend (like cheese),
You are Marc (like cheese).

I AM COLE (unlike cheese)

It feels squishy and soft
It looks hard and crusty
It smells grapy and sugary
It sounds squishy and fissy
When i swallow it glup glup down
my throat.

Soft sand and hot beaches,
Wild winds and beach *****,
Towels and sun tan lotions.
A little girl as old as six,
Kicking up broken shells and sticks.
Wind-blown sand ripped across her bare ankles,
Hair a mess,
Full of tangles.
Squishing sand between little toes,
Little miss curious with cheeks of rose.
A toothy grin turned up to the sun,
Laughter ringing through the crowd,
A mother calling out, "Go have fun!"
Long dark hair bouncing through the crowd,
Skipping back to the shore,
Smiling faces all around.
Suppressed memories of a little girl the age of six,
Something remembered,
A mind to fix.

i adore my softness
my round peach fuzz tummy
poking out, shielding the bones
that once ruled over my mind

make me
a person
that you would want to be
show me your weakness
let me hold it in my hand
don’t ask me why I want it
I won’t hold it for too long
all I want is one small moment
let me hold
it
let
me
hold
your
being
in
my
                   hand

I was cleaning out the fridge today

And in the back I found this "thing"

It was furry, soft and squishy

From the mind of Stephen King

I didn't want to touch it

It looked like a tangerine

But, from all the fur and oozy stuff

I don't know what it had been

I knew I had to move it

But I wasn't sure quite how

I'd seen things much more appealing

Come from the rear end of a cow

I emptied out the other stuff

I put them in the sink

I was left with this small land mine

That really had a stink

I needed some protection

Before I tried to grab this bomb

so, I closed the door real quiet

And I went to get some on

I put on swimming goggles

To protect my eyes in case

It exploded when I grabbed it

And it jelly-fied my face

I then grabbed my old rain coat

And put it on all front to back

So my front was well protected

In case this thing chose to attack

Hockey gloves to save my hands

Work boots were for my feet

All this to dispose of this

Thing that people eat

I opened up the door again

And as I looked inside

I could swear this thing was throbbing

And it had grown to twice it's size

I slammed the door and grabbed a beer

I had some in the sink

I had to get this thing destroyed

I needed time to think

I called up both my neighbors

I said "Evacuate" the street

I told them I was killing

Some thing that people eat

I couldn't tell them what it was

Because I wasn't sure

I must have bought it months ago

But I didn't know what for

If I knew that this would happen

If the expiration passed

If I knew this when I bought it,

I would have eaten it real fast

I went to get the garbage

I put three new bags inside

I would put the thing inside one

And would then get all three tied

I'd run it to the dump myself

But, I'd have to freeze it first

Because, Imagine what would happen

If the plastic bags had burst

One more thing I had to do

was get some stuff to hide the scent

I thought I'd get some vapo rub

So off to search I went

Now, all prepared and goggled up

in raincoat and in gloves

I was set to grab this thing

For push had come to shove

I opened up the door and there

Where the thing had just now been

Was nothing, not a single thing

Where was my thing of green?

It didn't get out on it's own

And no one would eat it up

The only one who'd like it

Was our garbage eating pup

It was at this point I saw my son

Rolling outside like a log

Playing with our whirling dervish

He had fed it to the dog!!

Like a child I curl up.
I'm doubled over in a mixture of ache and soft comfort
It crawls up to my heart. Heaving and tender.
I just lay there almost paralised waiting for it to pass
I grab a bite to eat and fall asleep

In the air, floating just next to the window
solidly constructed
as sure as the golden highway
stretching from Frisco across the Bay
looking square
as the acres of boxcars
north on the interstate
on the south side of Chicago,
it's all atoms...

This morning my son postulated to me a so-far unrealized condition
relating to matter transmitters and, probably, hyperspace. "What
would happen, " he asked, "if some guy transported himself inside a big rock?"
Indeed.
Putting on my ears, I considered the situation.  Would the hypothetical solid mass of rock give way, shudder just enough to allow the insertion of a soft, squishy human being?  Or would the spaces in their respective atoms--rock's and human's--intermesh neatly with each other?  Molecular integration?  But such a challenge to the atomic bonds holding the things together might result in a nasty atomic accident. Would that leave a human-shaped void inside the solid rock, a mold exact down to the finest details of skin texture and even eyelashes? Imagine the crystal-filled waters seeping down to find such a hole--Behold!! Geode Man.

Holding my silver pen extended
like a rapier before me,
I dissect the wispy chunks
of smoke. The balance of air
that gave them form
is destroyed.  They are
no more.

i am not an inbetweener

not a spaceholder

not a coma in your sentence

I will not hold the back of your bike

Chasing you down the street

Afraid you will wipe out

Scraping your knees on life

I deserve to be an abstract metaphor

Floating under a tree

Sun setting on my glistening shoulders

You should have to think before you speak

To me

Of me

For me

I will not be a flashlight

Or a traffic light

will not be your morse code

I am cursive- calligraphy-poetry on the leaves

Not messages on the inside of the bathroom stall

(of Chauncey’s, Stubbies or The Top)

Written for everyone

Never taken to heart

I will not harden my soul to put up with you

I will remain squishy forever

Powerfully squishy, silky liquidly wonderful

Riddles will drip from my tongue like ink

If you don’t understand it

I am not meant for you

Drowned and dripping

White wine princess

My dresses will flow out of your life

With a quickness

And you will be stuck

Dreaming about the taste and texture of my skin

pineapples.
why do we like them?
i don't know.
they are prickly
and pokey.
and kind of ugly.
and man, are those things ******* hard to peel.

apples.
why do we eat them?
i don't know.
they are shiny.
and kind of boring.
and you can't eat half of it anyway,
because it's too close to the seeds.

strawberries.
what kind of fruit are they?
their seeds are on the outside.
and their flavor of starburst doesn't taste anything like them.
and sometimes they get really squishy and covered in mold.

bananas.
why do we eat them?
i don't know.
maybe because they are yellow.

Throw a tomato! They're squishy...
Snails are too though, but you can't
Toss them too well.
You could use them like a baseball?
"Hey, batter batter. Swing!"
Touchdown!
But...
T
H
I
S
Isn't high school.
And we aren't jocks.
We just throw cabbages and rotten potatoes
Po-tah-toes.
Tomatoes.
To-mah-toes.
Lets call the whole thing off...