Perpetual occupation. Thoughts o’Disgust.

A path into oblivion. Who can we trust?

5% of the world population.

20%, prison population.

More thoughts. More of disgust. Despair. Hope? Less.

And less! Each day I think I forget. Its there.

Orange TV show personality.

As the leader of the free world?! What kind

of world is that? What am I supposed t’think?

Oh right. Because he’s free to tweet trash, garbage,

putridness, calling everyone out other than himself,

calling people dogs? That’s freedom. No thank you.

In the meantime, go fix your ******* self!

Before you try to fix everyone else.

I dream a dream of skill,
I gather pictures of best practice
(methods best enacted off the couch.)
I house,
crisp corners, soaring beams and posts
where gawkers marvel, ‘cos
the high is feeling good. I see
the woods
and watch the owners.
(What good grip they have! enough to claim
what they could never care for-
let the lessers sing their lives!)
I drive a drive
not fast enough for fastness-makers,
flaunting logos, polished chrome,
I drive a loan.

None say it, none will ever hear
these soft confessions to
the “here” I hold right now
in its un-good. I slip
a “should” on, halfway,
dumping it for snacks and cons -
I run for miles
to lose it on the lawn.

And as I break, I pause to
watch a bit to see how not to fail.
I land in jail. The wardens
never speak to me,
the only copy of the key
described in stories, but
they’ve scattered every page.
And every day I fail
to reconstruct it out of naught,
I age.

For my health and away from chaos ;
I must leave this employment ;
It is a marination

Spare me my lungs
And my worn upon readers
Part from me the company
Of these sippers
These social fighters and patterns

Be gone
Let out

A restitution
in statutory
there a
transitory program
swift to
encircle firm
when ridicule
compel a
moratorium where
Russia still
a democratic
likelihood in
arms race
soon retire
for Holy
Land again.

I knew you brief
bad diet
grease

listen to the radio station
very nice man
no fabrication

not just a drunk
but a man with ideas
just to many beers

self expression was the way
a poet
and a DJ

"Now listen up," the Professor said
With his big brain blown-up inside his big head,
"When I get old and frail and weary
Your life may become, quite frankly, quite dreary.
For life without knowledge is something to flee,
And knowledge, we know, is stored inside me.
So I make myself clear in this moment right now
To have you, my son, take on a great vow.
Once I pass on, the world is hopeless,
Unless a Professor remains in existence.
So you as my son must become like me,
You're the next Professor-- that's my decree."
Don't ask me why me, he said what he said,
And what he says is law-- coming from that big head.
Now I've received a new occupation,
And I'm the luckiest kid in all of creation!
The next Professor... Just think, that's me!
And then I get to make the next decree!