The fly begs me to extinguish
It's pathetic existence
It's
Caught in a vortex
Outside the pale
Of sentience
In
Agony, it's pathetic being
Buzzes like a power drill in overdrive
Screaming
"Put this down, this moving, flying
Thing
You can't end a life that isn't properly a life
Now can you?
It's genesis as maggots
Digging deep where the worm doth turn
Recycling disease
Busting my buzz
Making me want to write this whatever this is
Instead of listening to some tunes
Which is what I'd rather be doing
I'd much more enjoy
Tripping with the new Tool album
Alas,
The thought that this souless insect might
Land on my nose in the middle of Danny's drum solo
Keeps me from donning the headphones
And powering my fingers to walk across the flaming coals
That are the letters on my computer keyboard
Hoping it will go to the bathroom and stay
Go away, go away, go away!
You wretched, horrid beast
You first amongst the least
Fly, fly, fly...you don't even fly all that well
All zig zagging to and fro
Like a firefly with a broken tail light
On this stormy September night
September 12th, 2019
Yesterday my facebook page
Was like a bizarre but heartfelt REMINDER
Unnecessary but appreciated nonetheless
Just strange to think of a world
In which anyone would need to set that one...

It was there
though I don't know how it got
there
I can tell you with a considerably high degree of confidence
of it's presence and location within
space
and
time
for I see myself practicing an alchemy
with thoughts deranged making their way
into the stew
the broth in the brew
into not one, but two magnum opusi
tweedle deedle dee and tweedly umbi
get 'em by
I see myself succeeding in this alchemical work
playing itself outside of me
and pretending it's a poem
This alchemical voice all too often silenced
before the pivotal motive of the book has been read
burning bushes it returns
and it is to this location I direct you
when I say I know where it is
and though I do not inform you
of the items in the magical box
when I pulled them from my hat
they were all there
they were all alone, crying, some with real tears
others substituting with expensive reproductions

I couldn't tell you what's in my heart right now
if you'd let me
I stand condemned, alone, leaving this
life atoned
I don't even know
It's full of ghosts and dead bones
filled with history and broken dreams
to the brim with emotion
to the extent
that a heart can be broken
I claim mind has been broken a few times
and it never crossed mind
how the last time was worse than the last time
and every time was just like that
So look out, I'm courtin' the jester
I'm on the hunt for a crime
I'm telling lies just for lying

and I am not distracted by the dramatic strains
of Franz Schubert's 8th symphony, ushering in
the dramatic while I sit and try to think
of something to say
and a way I can say it
with meaningless syntax
and dreamless taxed sin
that's the stuff I'm wallowing in
it's like gooey taffy, the color of Granny Smith
apples
even smells like green apple, the kind God doesn't grow
in Indianapolis in the summertime
I'm assuming that's to imply
that apples can be found on each and every tree
when the magical season of summer is in session
and that there has never been a summer that has not
brought us much and more ever needed
never in need of anything more

I was that poet voice
took a liking to your mind
together we rollicked in forests
and made shepherd's pie on St. Patty's Day
and what a day, that day, Patty O'the Day
I gave you the words on this page
Though their eventual response be rage
Try to find meaning in them
I dare you
It cannot be done

This can't be
the end of things
the line of time etched in sand
disturbed by foot or hand

This can't be
an aspect of time
from moot point to mute point
no language demand

or experience recall
or innocence regain
sleeping,  dreaming
never the same

The home and hearth is a welcome sight
On this dark and cold winters night
An evening of merriment, warmth and cheer
Has left me with one extra beer
To drink it, to save it, what should I do
With this lonely high-point imported brew?
I’ll give it to the lonely immigrant
Persecuted by an orange president
Drink deep, my friend from parts unknown
Sadly you must drink alone
For I must leave to use the phone
To tell my friends I made it home

The lighting
reflects from your porcelain skin
shaved, coiffed for perfection
transubstantiation
accomplished via Photoshop
robot eternal
perfection, infused with spirit
unnoticed
except in the moment
(moments)

wha a joke.
I heard someone laugh
he thinks the thing is human
hypnotized by the beauty in the face
he forgets to appreciate
he will never even know
just how close he came
to falling in love
with a figment of his own imagination

the idols, lined up against the wall
the people
take these abominations at face value
flesh and blood encompassing
hollow shells
***** dolls

forgotten tongue-play
betwixt apostate minds
that squander reality
for relatively small fines

licking taste buds
a gentle tug of war
between pixels and reality
for a small stipend more

******* fingers,
soggy with saliva
and dust to make the stuff
of Davids and Godivas

spit co-mingled, tasted and swallowed
spit co-mingling with my brain
spit co-mingling on an airplane
this spit will drive you insane

that's why I'm ******* my fingers
I put my tongue in your mouth
I taste the Jolly Rancher cherry
it's been a favorite, no doubt
it's sour kick mingles with your spit
spit it out, spit it out
spit it out?
your saliva drips a colorful hue
i only wish to taste of it too...