******* on what you think
may or may not pass for poetry.
what is or what isn't poetry.
what is intended to be...
what isn't that was intended to be...
what is and was never intended to be...

I've written ******* YouTube comments
that drew my attention after having accumulated
enough attention to where I declared that there
should be a Poem here. Hell. They were easy enough
on the ears. It's all about aesthetics, right?
If people are going to like my ******* comments
because they make them chuckle or ponder their sanity,
who the hell am I to say they're not poems?
how many poets are out there who just don't know it?
the twitter-critters, the instagram-crackers crackin'
crack rocks in they black socks at a white sox game
yelling at the top of their lungs,
"Abreu ya filthy Jew, *******!"

I digress...
*what a ******* mess

And then a little voice inside me said,
"Maybe you should get out of bed,
Do more drugs
And play Skyrim."

So I did.

There seems to me a bitter irony
In cutting dope with my
Health Insurance card
On the cover of a
Book written by
Hunter S. Thompson...

If humans had wings they would flock to the ground,
They would mine as they sing and dig underground towns,
They'll keep on a-diggin'
down diggy down down,
Till they dig up a well
And drown driggy drown drown.
They'll try with their wings to fly up to the sky,
But those tunnels are deep and all winding, no lie,
So they suffered, the lot of em, subterranean deaths
As they flapped and they screamed as they breathed their last breaths.

I was once issued a citation
For ******* on a homeless guy.
On my court date,
The judge asked me why I did it,
And I said,
"Because I thought he was dead."

I have a cat.
I lied; I don't have a cat...

I pack heat so the ****** on the block don't **** with me.
I lied; I don't pack heat and those ****** **** with me every day...

I have oranges growing from orange trees in my greenhouse because I believe in growing my own food and living a healthy lifestyle.
I lied; I eat at McDonald's every day...

I don't do drugs.
I lied; I'm addicted to ****** and I'll abuse just about any substance you put in front of me...

I've got a lovely girlfriend who loves me just as much as I love her.
I lied; I'm single and lonely and I ******* like clockwork...

I write decent poetry.
I lied; This isn't a poem... it's a depressing heap of words I thought might pass for poetry...

I -
lied...

I'm actually extremely happy and optimistic and nothing in the world can stop me from achieving my--
*Yeah...right.

A stiff breeze coincides with a passing jet
As I sit on my stoop watching dead leaves
Dance around the manhole in the street.

It's 15 degrees outside,
Yet I persist with this disgustingly pleasurable vice
That's sure to **** me... eventually.
Fingertips numb as carcinogens fill my lungs
To shake hands and broker death deals with my alveoli.

I ponder...

The previous chapter in my life has come to a close.
Awareness of the changes setting in
Allows for a free hand to grasp the wheel,
If only with few fingers...
It's a start.