This is an ode to Adderall,

that wonderful mixture of

dextroamphetamine sulfate

dextroamphetamine saccharate

amphetamine

aspartate monohydrate

and amphetamine sulfate capsules

that all combine together

to form a prescribable pill

questionably similar to the Schedule II controlled substance street drug

commonly refered to as "Speed."


This is an ode to the children

who are bundles of energy caged in a classroom

incapable of concentrating

on the miniscule tasks given to them

by pedagogical authorities that

promise societal success and economic happiness

to those who complete their work on time

without a fuss or a doubt as to why they're

filling in bubbles on paper in the first place.

The confused children who watch

as others with calmer brains

fixate eyes on textbooks

rather than out the window.


This is an ode to Society

deeming these individuals as broken

choosing to wound then medicate

rather than proliferate.

That took their inquisitiveness

and locked it in a book with the label "DISORDER"

stating that you will never be anything

unless you think and feel the same way we do.

And much like a mad doctor

lobotomizing those whom he thinks insane

they synthesized a pill

to dampen a torrential brilliance

allowing them to place their sedated children

back in the box where they belonged.


This is an ode to the college students

chained by academic standards

expected to excel towards great things

if only they reach that ethereal diploma.

The students who crave the artificial focus

the increased capacity for concentration

with the broadened spectrum of perception

the sense of purpose in the tedium

the ungodly ability to think clearly

and perform the meaningless tasks they expect of us.

The students who go through illegal means

to purchase said drug

to swallow or snort

and dive back into the mountain of responsibility

with a new found sense of productivity and motivation.

An ode to the students

unable to find purpose in studenthood

the ones who find more virtue in watching the sunset

burn clouds into firework oblivion

before then blessing us with uncritical night.

An ode to the students

who discover more education

in climbing to the top of a mountain

and yelling a nonsense decree of passion

just to watch the echo

bounce from shore to shore

in cathartic reverberation.

The ones

for which our pill

is the only possible manner

of assigning purpose to purposeless assignments.

These are the ones

who must binge

cram for days before

the big exams

going whole nights without sleep

or food.

The ones slowly cracking under the increasing pressure of academia

spending more time questioning why they must complete their homework

instead of actually completing it.


This is an ode to my brothers and sisters

who stand in horror at the mold we must fit into

crafted by an unknown unshakable entity.

The ones who lost the appeal of cookie-cutter success

in exchange for a small understanding

of the way things really work.

The cogs that twisted off the machine

and now sit lotus-posed in the corner.

My fellow birds with broken wings

still expected to fly.

My fellow carpenters expected to build their estates

yet not given the proper tools to do so.

The ones of cursed cold clarities

perfectly capable of clutching

those fifteen minutes of dynasty

yet refrain from doing so due to

the immaculate futility of it all.


This is an ode to a drug induced rant

that no one will read

the one that I chose to write

instead of doing my **** homework in the library

like a compliant student.


This is an ode to the pressure-oriented procrastinators

that delay and yet again delay

their petty necessary obligations due to purposeless and exhausted motivation.

Swallowing substances to summon some sort of incentive

to fill in the bubbles

and cater to the Society they find so confusing

the ones who only under influence of synthesized chemicals

find reason to squeeze into that culturebox

that cascades down a bumpy man-made conveyor belt

branding a diploma onto your forehead

injecting an occupation into your veins

transforming your pupils to dollar bill signs

demanding you breed children

to do the same as you have

and you'll never be happy unless you do these things

right?


This is an ode to those who reside in the shadows

of our broken social system

and conjure up great conversations

pertaining to everything and nothing

that are as wonderful and necessary

as the prints of your fingers

caressing down a comfortable torso

just before the sun rises

the untouchable indescribable realizations of life and love

that are completely irrelevant in their eyes

but are entirely necessary for our survival.


This is an ode to the overwhelming feeling of love

greatly exacerbated by a pharmaceutical delight

whereupon connections with other humans

become both incredibly appealing and oddly magnetic

for a few electric hours.

The oxygenating satisfaction felt

the instance just after the small talk architecture masks

fall to the floor

and right before we put them back on.


This is an ode to the minutes before the amphetamine crash

where the world still doesn't make sense

but we briefly don't mind

because a few fleeting moments of energy and purpose

in this otherwise detestable confine of reality

are all you can really ask for

as you complete the assignments

then step outside

to smoke yet another cigarette (they're absolutely wonderful on Adderall try it some time it'll **** you slowly but then again what won't?)

only to witness our Sun

breeding fire clouds in the east

illuminating the Western Abyss into purple-gold spectral oblivion

and in consequence therefore

between puffs of a necessary cigarette

you grin to yourself in quiet victory.


This is an ode to misaligned priorities

to those who when walking to everimportant final examinations

think not of the curriculum beaten into their skulls

but take careful measure to step on every crack on the sidewalk

who stare not towards the future

but to the beautiful reflection reflecting back from the broken mirrors

that are the weary days and weary ways

of this curious existence.

To those when stepping into the absurd spotlight of Society

unapologetically proclaim:


"Though I must play your game,

you will never win."

Tonight I am an astronaut
in between an old woman
who smells like ink, sudoku, and *****,
and a window with a full moon
that is held in the sky by a wing.

I'd like to tell her
what everybody thinks
when they fly.
I'd tell her
what it would be like
if we crashed
and I had to choose
between her
and myself.

Selfishly I would choose myself.
My mother could not outlive me.
Yet, she could be my mother's mother.
She could have seen the full moon
from the backseat of a Model T
or from her back in a desert
that is now Las Vegas or Phoenix
or full moons from ninety years or full moons.

But this plane will not crash
and I will not have to choose
yet I am still repulsed.
I'll too be old. Soon.
Tomorrow, maybe.
Yet, I promise
I will not smell of ****
or fly in a plane
without a seat
next to a window
so I could see the full moon
from outer space.

beauty bright
burns the soul's retina
leaving blind spots
blotches on the vision
of what burns
behind the beauty

look
        away
from the dazzling
surface

feel the fusion
of mind and spirit
exploding
just beneath

generating
intense light
radiating

out through
ever-expanding
infinite space
between love
and being

never look into
the eyes of the sun;
look beyond them

maybe sometimes, you are trying to fall asleep.
and my words fall on you like snowflakes, antarctic and weighted. an igloo of what used to be.
lay there, frigid, and remember when our hearts throbbed for each other.
maybe they still do.

I have never seen a body turn from life to corpse
hung from a chapel or tree
or a two year old girl stop breathing
because mom can't afford food
or clothes torn off a man on fire in heat
as he stops drops dead  
with final thoughts of spring rolls
of laughter of the buffet filled
to the belly like bullets
in the chest when you can eat
no more fish she said
to write a poem as a fish
hooked and dragged
like ******* soda cans
on the back of a limousine
on your wedding day
off he goes out to the lake
to fish to socialize with Ted
his brother as strong as his fillet knife
I bite the jig and wear the hook
to the surface I gasp
thrash and hang from eight
pound test and turn from fish
to fish flesh as a fillet knife
empties my guts from gill
to tail.

my mind opens to
unlearned knowledge
unwritten words
unspoken voices
unrecorded lives
untold wisdom
unearthed by
unceasing
undertow of
universal
understanding
undeterred
unless
my mind closes

Thaw

Today I cause erosion
I angle sand once perpendicular
to a half frozen lake
to a beachy slide
softened with shells
with starfish three hundred
miles away in an ocean
warm as the lips of a moray.

Earth stills below me
ten percent snow
thirty percent mud
fifty nine dirt
and one percent soles.
I carry a stick
I drag through earth
like a rudder through waves
and a clearing I swear
looks like it once
housed a UFO.

Remember the summer
in a three foot grass field
we used plywood and a rope
to make crop circles
that nobody would ever see
and had a fire
next to a creek and listened to water
scratch and sniff the shale.

it rained yesterday
and i spent
three hundred dollars
on a ******* juicer.
because i think
like a goldfish
that forgets
every five seconds.  or is
that *******?
is it every three seconds?
but regardless
i know i can juice orange
and celery and apple
and a nice spice
like cinnamon
or ginger
to make the perfect drink.
**** it.
ill save three hundred
and by the perfect drink
every night
for two dollars
and fifty cents.
a *** and pineapple
or ***** tea
or sanity
and lime.
and talk to someone.
anyone i wish
about ****
and ****.
and ****.
****.

The sky is not crying, neither is it blessing you
The trees do not dance, neither do they feed you
God does not curse you, neither is He watching you
The predator salivating death doesn't know its prey
We want to connect everything to us, humanize the unfeeling
We name the stars, the children, the earth
It doesn't matter, because they will always be what they always were
The storm comes, regardless of what we call it
We perish, regardless of whether we praised life
We live, regardless of whether we worshipped death
This is why we are crumbling, if and only we remember to stay unnamed
If we unmask our humanity, underneath is nature, waiting
Underneath is where all we know is existing

if
moods
are
swings

i'm the kid who jumps from too        high

and scrapes both knees on the gravel.