This thing i’ve found is wonderful
although i don’t know what it does;
it sort of makes a funny buzz
on every time i push or pull.
It’s stringed, and latched with purple fuzz
which smells like dripping, mildewed wool
which makes me think of when it was

appropriate to run around with kites
on beaches and to throw down bikes,
and not to care, and not to write.

who the **** cares how
you look? beautiful, to me,
you're unparalleled.

It's good to see you.
I hate you and I love you
more than anyone.

I found a bud,
among nothing but grass
in my garden mud,
which has not been tended as
it should.
But to pass
and awe in this flower’s beauty
is the sentient’s only duty:

to stop and to admire
as we do
with a house on fire;
and you
who bring my being to a place higher
than anywhere a thought can to –
but still you are a notion,
a sight with which my mind is in motion:

a controlled
chaos, that causes
speech slowed,
implausibly placed words, and losses
of thought. I mowed
the grasses
where I found the budding flower,
and no longer think of beauty’s deep power.

I may have been drunk,
drunker than I've ever been,
but I hadn't drank.

If I am a robot
then I am your sexbot.

That's a lie,
I'm a guy

A boy lived atop a hill
pleading for a way out
that did not require skill,
experience, or clout.
He decided to drill
for oil -- with doubt.
In spite of these doubts he grew to be rich,
but was turned to a mule when he married a witch.

I farted, at once, on command
I'd hoped that my gasses'd get canned,
but when they did not
I went out and bought
some stinkbombs before they were banned.

Ain't no
*******
thing to do or make, but
Poetry: productivity --

at best.

These flowers I have ripped from the ground:
stolen from thirsty and bright bees, humming
birds
are my gift to you that will soon die
but not before their beauty does,
and that is what you mean to me.

I added my date of birth to my profile.
It updated.
Next to the numbers is a "-" reminding me it could be over in a dash.

Your lips retreat from mine
as a wave receding
and teasing
with its
rich, wet
beauty

approaching my
pleasant toes
to give me all
,
and just a bit
,
of the ocean
leaving the shore
still wet
as it returns to mystery.

As men we are afflicted with two heads,
with one of logic, one of sordid lust,
with one we shoudld obey, and one we must,
for one is physical in thought, one not –
thus each reacts when love appears ahead;
both heads will grow, but one will fill with thought,
and though this head may seem in one's mind grown
it's rather love has logic overthrown.

The other head is true to feel and size;
it fills with blood and reaches open-eyed;
it hopes to join a lovely place: to fit,
and makes it known by pointing towards her..."it."

While one regards 'made love' as one to find,
the other is emotionally inclined.

You are like the sunset:
everyone wants a moment with you.
But I am not jealous
because I have you at sunrise.

I'll be chasing down the sunset
although I'll never find
her. Melded pink is wonderful;
her gold cannot be mined.

Every time I reach for her
and think I have arrived,
my evening lady's disappeared
into her golden hive.

Every night I chase her on
horizons by the sea,
but now I know that being gone's
her only way to be.

Her purpose is to fade away,
the same is said of me;
but beauty's in the setting sun,
a beauty meant to see.

i shed pounds

of hair

when i shave
my

back,
chest,
neck,
shoulders,
abs,
and below.

It falls lightly as the electric blades become hot on my body
gashing into my un-satisified self.

i am a hairy ****.
i am a hairy ******* man.
i am a hairy man.
i am a man.

but here i am
shaving everything off
so i can be
the boy
of your dreams,
the boy of your dreams.


And now, my body burns
but I cannot bear it; looking like a bear.

Encounters**, though encountered as perchance
are calculated quests of happenstance.
Though man is subject to his journey's end,
the road is paved by beasts of circumstance.

Our free-well, then, just navigates the bends
and all roads lead to paradise – I mean,
we're probably all parasites, it seems,
the physical expands beyond the soul,
unless the soul is physically controlled.

Consider physics' undisputed law:
all energy's conserved from see to saw,
but what about from saw to sea:
the sun I see set on the sea –
it clearly still takes energy?

You make me feel so good
and so bad
about myself.

I could drop you like a hot kettle
and you’d be shattered, but

once I pulled a tea kettle from the hot box
and burned three of my fingers
because I didn’t want to drop it.

My friends say
Just put her on the backburner.

I don't think my stove is big enough.

It's not the time of dandelions;
they've all been blown away;

those fragile fragments now remind
the shooting stars of day.

And though the seedlings blown away seem gone;
they float as static light and air along
as pieces of a never ending earth –
a universe recycling its dearth.

All matter is
and always is.
A dandelion
may be his

smile. And think – drink water from your sink –
it may be reimagined stars you drink.

Title: The Basketball
The Basketball Team
The Basketball Team Meeting

A single matchstick
is all it takes to brighten
the chaotic dark;

but it takes nothing
for the darkness to feed on
and consume our fear.

°•°

In all of our eyes
is a tiny bit of light,
big enough to see.

In all of our eyes
the pupil's darkness is void:
central to all light.

•°•

Man created fire,
and he brought light to the earth
to fill night's darkness.

The man who knows fire
gains a fear of the unknown:
the dark he forgets.

°•°

There is no darkness
without light. To see darkness
you must have sight: light.

That lucid scent is tormenting me.
I can feel you

through every opening that will allow feeling,

and I am left
with just

a

t
r
a
i
l
.

The most impossible thing just happened.
A butterfly was flying around my room.
It’s 1:00am. I live in New York City,
on the 31st floor of an apartment building

No windows have been opened.
When I caught him, to let him out,
he died, or seemed to die

but really, he was just a moth
looking for the light.

But how did he get in here?

The wrath inside you boils from your rage;
your anger elevates to drown your sense.
My blindness has deluded me as sage,
serene and irreproachably intense.

It’s likely that my passive nature’s pushing
my little brother, you, – who hates that term –
straight to hear discordant, silent ringing
as wrath’s contorted demon crisply worms

into your weakened ear to fill your mind
with bubbles, red, and bursting sound, and DARK –
which spread like darkened dust-storms into mine.
That ready wrath, red and quick to spark

burns best those minds invulnerable to sin –
such smug-singed souls sink – slaves to self-delusion.

all form is ugly
all human form is ugly
humans are ugly

all that’s terrible
is man’s inability
born from vanity

And now without sense
Your scent has overtaken me
And my common sense.

I think we both want...
It's clear we both want to have...
Something, now, to say

if i am a shark
i know why fish swim away
but i'm not a shark

Here is the poem,
a train on tracks who knows where;
"what wonderful sights!"

O'er scores of years and hundreds more we sing
the song of lady liberty across
land and shining seas where freedom rings
of strength in overcoming all we've lost.

The boys in green died camouflaged as men;
free to fight, they fought for freedom's rein,
and liberty and justice galloped when
the wind that raised our flag then sailed the slain

home: where the heart and Stars and Stripes were sewn
of nation's loosened threads of flags and sails.
The final folds undone as taps is blown;
brave souls are set to sea beneath its flails.

United by our rights, and one of which
states: "all men are created equal"-ish.

who loves me the boy
who spoke about wonder
in front of all my graduates

i wonder
who thought i was lying
when i was lying about my story
and i wonder who thought i did well
well, because i guess i did

i wonder who thought i messed up
and who thought i did not
probably all on the first
besides my grandmother

it's best to pretend
you're drunk
-er

than you are,
then you can get away with more

wonmcx
i am a wombat
who's drunk? meeee
time for summer

apathy is useful
when recalling insults,
people who dislike you,
and upsetting situations

because then you remember –
i'm too uninterested to spend my time,
effort or thoughts

caring.

A dandelion
is first or last a puff of
God's made universe

lucky boy
gets to rip his face off
everyday
with a razor

***** he stands; (he has no midnight plans,
but one). From stroke of dawn, to coming dusk
he plays himself the song of lonesome hands:
first lost, then found, himself alone in lust.
The pleasure passes quickly; shaft will fret
through spasms rushing body (stiff and red)
‘till passion splurging, flying – white and wet –
then falls to bed in blissful blank of head.
The dripping love and ecstasy, once mine,
has gone and passed – the small false-death
of rhyme;so still, I sit, past stupor *** divine:
(the ***-less *** that’s made for private time).
So help yourself, but please, take note of this:
to play is fun – but nothing like a kiss!

quick dandelions
blowing with ease in all wind
are weeds not flowers.

Dandelions change
simply, growing quickly – all
need no tender care.

Roses and tulips
take man's hand, and are rare, hard;
grow with water, sun.

Worthy love: sweet, rare
takes cultivation and care –
unlike weeds: flowers.

Upon the foot of spring, dandelions run
rampant, and weakly – quick, seemed flourished, fun.

Eyelashes: feathers
for your angelic eyes. Gaze
in mine and I fly.

I must have it: be
skinny, be skinny; don't eat;
that has to be me.

I'm exercising;
not eating.       *"IT'S NOT EASY
TO BE THIN LIKE THEM!"

Every pretty girl
is skinny. "Beautiful?" No,
he'd never mean me.

Violent heaving death:
you deserve the punishment!
Blood, bile, cleaned off smile.

no more strawberries
blueberries, fuckberries: ALL:
give me everything!

Don't you look pretty
compared to that fat slob you're
staring at? Yourself.

Feel your collarbone;
it means progress. You don't want
to ever stop feeling bones.

Pride
Feel your collarbone;
it means progress. You don't want
to ever stop feeling bones.

Vanity
Don't you look pretty
compared to that fat slob you're
staring at? Yourself.

Gluttony
no more strawberries
blueberries, fuckberries: ALL:
give me everything!

Wrath
Violent heaving death:
you deserve the punishment!
Blood, bile, cleaned off smile.

Envy
Every pretty girl
is skinny. "Beautiful?" No,
he'd never mean me.

Sloth
I'm exercising;
not eating.       "IT'S NOT EASY
TO BE THIN LIKE THEM!"

Lust*
I must have it: be
skinny, be skinny; don't eat;
that *has to be me.

a circle of life*
The bright red leaves are whirling in the wind,
their passing reminiscent of her days,
when auburn hair would break from fragile skin
like cracking umber leaves in fall's malaise.

Her daughter saw the doctor twice a week;
the pregnancy was moving well along.
The two recalled chrysanthemum's conceit:
in life is death; and death is life's old song.

The funeral was on Thanksgiving day;
her daughter in the hospital was ripe
and could not mourn, as one soul blew away –
and one without a Nana burst in hype

to life. The birth would turn out perfectly,
exactly as expected it would be.

a waiting affair*
I could not hold my breath for quite that long
awaiting your arrival at my door.
My wife is out and though I know it's wrong,
the wrongness only makes me want you more.

I cannot help but wonder what you're wearing,
and if you think about me like I do.
I wonder if our spouses are as daring;
or if they maybe know of me and you.

I rake the leaves and hope you'll soon arrive.
I put away the pictures of my wife
and stare intently at the empty drive;
then that roaring engine brings me to life.

Your car drives by; I cannot help but grin
the bright red leaves are whirling in the wind.