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Hank Helman Feb 2020
Do you give a ****.
About anything.
Anything at all.

The weather, sleep, french fries,
The mental state of the person
Standing beside you on the subway,
Your last few moments,
Before the cold, frozen, forever stare.

How do we give a **** anyway.
Is that the issue.
We ******* care,
But we just don't know what to do.

Do we march, write and post,
Buy a gun?
Vote... for who?

No, it's over.
Forget about it all
There is no point in giving a ****.
You are right.

I don't give a ****.
About anything.
Anymore.
I left out the questions marks on purpose.
Hank Helman Dec 2019
J
He asked her to run away with him.

Abandon all the nonsense, he said,

The whiplash of city life,

Where love is calculated,

Always a ratio expressed as an investment.


Flee to Panama with me, he begged her,

And we will watch the slow motion freighters,

Fat with their overkill,

Flat bottom barges with their smooth decks

Piled high with Lego like boxcars,

The Navy cutters,  sharp shorn sailors,

Crisp salutes, code talkers eager to obey,

On board their aptly named destroyers,

We will watch their steel hulls

Float up hill and mediate the thick flora,

Gun barrels, rude and pointed fast forward, ready to ****.




At night, in the jungle, he promised her,

We will throw handfuls of diamonds,

Up into the sky

And watch them sparkle for hours,


In the starry dark our eyes will dance

And tease,

As you shout your pleasure,

Good god no one ***** quietly in paradise, he told her,

The constant cacophony of the night hunters,

The simian sentries,

To whom noise

Is both whimsy and centuries of security,

The curious monkeys

The Giant macaw,

The fauna creeps

To the outer edge of our campfire.

To watch our curious

And temperamental exchange,

Of sap and soul.


Meet me there he begged her.


No, she replied,softly

In a way that always

Sounds like yes

To him.
Hank Helman Nov 2019
We have to talk about the bomb.
The atom bomb.

I know you are not worried.
But you should be.

You don't know about the bomb.
Oh sure you're aware, sort of,
That we killed,
One hundred and fifty thousand
Japanese civilians
In a heartbeat.

Like instantly.

But those bombs were toys.
Compared to the **** we have now.

So if y-o-u have the staying power,
This is what happens.
When we drop a nuclear bomb
Over a major city.

The bomb detonates
Between 1 to 4 kilometers
Above the city.

In order to maximize death and destruction.

Yes, that's how military leaders think.
Maximum death.

First everyone on the ground
Goes blind
That's how powerful the flash is.

Then a rain of heat, millions of degrees,
Followed by fire,
Destroys everything
In a mile radius,

Like ******* everything,

People, buildings, power lines,
Police cars, the homeless
Churches, playgrounds,
Sports stadiums,
Grocery stores,'
***** houses,
Daycare centers and more.

But that's only the beginning.

Then comes the 500 m.p.h. wind
You don't know what a 500 m.p.h. can do.
So here are some thoughts.

Buildings are hurricane proofed
Up to a max of 300 mph.

Goodbye to every structure
Within the radius.

This wind will peel the pavement
Off the roads.

The rubble you walk across,
Because there isn't any city left
Will be fifty feet deep.

This all happens in seconds.
Like no ****, you could go out
And walk around
Five minutes
After the blast,
And have a ****,
Although it might be difficult
To find a coffee shop and hang.

But we are not done.

Then the fallout
Fallout is all the **** and debris and particles
Like the powdery concrete,
From a collapsed Trump Tower,
Or the ionized particle from inside the bomb
That gets swept up and
Pushed high into the sky,
The mushroom cloud,
Where it drifts whichever way
God tells it too.

And it's all radioactive.

Which means what?

Radioactive means all the little particles
En masse,
Are spitting radiation.

What the **** is radiation?

Well when you are sitting on the beach,
Watching the nearly naked, frolic and frenzy
That little sunburn you get
Is the sun radiating you.
Transferring its energy to you,
Until you look like a twizzler. ( red licorice).

And you know how sometimes
When the military is putting on a show,
And some young soldier flops over
From the heat?
That's an effect of radiation.

Nuclear bombs radiate like mother-*******.
The sun in your backyard kind of ****
But nuclear bomb radioactive particles aren't hot.
Or even warm.
They are fairies,
With
Their electrons messed up
From the explosion,
And they can ride God's wind for hundreds of miles.

And when one of those little ionized buggers
Finds you,
Goes right through your skin,
Goes through most everything
Until it whizzes by a cell,
Where it stops in,
Has a house wrecking party,
Where you lose your hair,
And everything else,
And you die,
Because all your cells get confused.
(Think cancer treatment on steroids for
a hundred miles in every direction)

So when we elect a psychopath,
Who cannot think,
Cannot reason,
Cannot project
Has neither empathy
Or sympathy,
Is uneducated,
Slow thinker,
Greedy as ****
And not very bright
He has about
2000 of these to play with.

Seriously?
Hank Helman Nov 2019
There is no god,
We know that now,
No righteous way,
No need to bow.

There's us and time,
And space galore,
Muons, quarks,
Sun-stars and more.

But meaning hides,
A shy allusion,
We pray with faith
And find delusion.
Hank Helman Oct 2019
End
Do not spit and tease me
With your duchess anger,
Or flaunt your sad pose,
Or **** with me,
By sigh or sob,
Wet cheeks red and damp,
A trickle lick of salt and tears.

I'm empty.
Do you hear me?

Drained pallid and lip crackle dry,
Not even a ******* stain of me to be found.

I can't see my shadow or myself
Hear my shouts,
Feel a fingerprint
Or even smell the blood stink
We conjure up on the hottest days.

I am gone. You can have the dogs.

Why do you hate me?
What did I do
That makes you stone me
With a constant guilty glare

Why do you look at me
That way.


It wasn't my fault.

She died.

In my arms.

Do you get that.

I could feel her heart beating.
And then I couldn't.

I slipped into a hero panic.
I ran twelve miles
With her dead ******* body in my arms.

But she was dead.

Before I began.
She was dead.

And now so are we.
I won't be in touch.
Again.
Ever.
This is a note a character left in a short story I wrote. About break ups.  Which always have so many layers to them.
Hank Helman Oct 2019
I farted at Yoga,
And it wasn't a toot,
Think foghorn,
Or moose call,
A trombone salute.

The relief was enormous,
God's gift is a gas,
Who ever thought tranquility,  
Would burst from my ***.
Hank Helman Oct 2019
What is time,
Where does it flow,
Your kiss was here
Only moments ago.

Your laugh, your love,
Assigned to the past,
Your smile a ghost
Leaves me aghast.

What trick is time,
A one way *****,
Climb up, not down,
Harsh misanthrope.

Gone now this one
Who made me whole,
Time's rude gift,
A hollowed soul.
We cannot fear death our stoic fate. Love now, love long, it's not too late. Goodbye my love.
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