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 Jun 2015 dZang Roller
JDK
I've spent the majority of my life developing the body while ignoring the mind.
Wait, I mean it's the other way around.
I get confused sometimes.
I can't stop writing!
All my smart buddies
Sit around dreading the apocalypse.
Nukes, climate change, virus, asteroid.

The weird freaky creators
(with their motives we cannot know by design)
Want us to be freaked out about doom.
Want us to LOVE life.
And want us to dread utter doom of all creation
Even worse than we dread our own demise.
We are driven to be clever,
Driven to fear death,
Driven to Love all of creation.
Why should we?
Fear our collective ability to destroy
Beautiful creation!
Fear this collective ability!
Shun the clever destructive trap of
"profit"
Fear this virtue, this evil
Profit is the evil virtue!
 Jun 2015 dZang Roller
wordvango
imposed by DNA
by nature striving to
reproduce full frontal ******
scenes with wolves
killing baby deer

harmony with brutal
forces driving tsunami
waves in shores onto bathers unprepared
schemes of hawks  
killing doves

distrust the self
for the next breath
if snatched away cannot be recovered
look wise sideways
out of the corner
of eyes

always, procreate into
believing its all meaning
something, DNA winds into
helical coils as do typhoons,
as does the cynical
idealism
 Jun 2015 dZang Roller
JDK
I only ever make things worse.
"Who do you know who owns a hearse?"
I once rode to Denny's next to a coffin;
it was empty.

There's this guy at work
who worked at a funeral home before.
He went through a fast food drive-thru with a dead guy in the back.
He'd died from obesity.

I don't know what's worse:
Tragedy or comedies.
I'm always tearing up at the happy scenes,
and laughing inappropriately.
******* ******* irony -
gets me every time.
I should be sleeping write now. I'm going to delete this in my dreams.
Depression visits often

He’s the kind of guy
Who doesn’t wipe his
Shoes before entering
And leaves traces of
Himself through out
The house

He keeps to himself
But you can always
Find him washing down
His doubts with cheap wine
Or writing a love poem
That never gets delivered

When it’s time for him
To leave, he usually
Prolongs his goodbyes, but
When all is said and done
He quietly sneaks out
Without me noticing

Even though he’s gone
I leave a key under the door mat
Because I know he will
Be back soon.
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