like the blunt
dangling from his lips
he lit me up
when he needed to numb the pain
and tossed me out
with the other roaches
when there was nothing left to take

s.s

i once knew a boy
who kissed me
because he needed to be kissed
not because he loved
the taste of my lips
or the laugh that escaped them
and he did not love me
for the person i was
he simply loved what i was to him
an outlet for his thoughts
he loved to use me
because i said the right words
and kissed the right places
but you see, that's all i was
a puzzle like himself
just a game to keep him busy

s.s

listening to sweet string music
played by street musicians
on both sides
     of the now peaceful
    Austrian-Hungarian border
in a landscape beautiful
     cultivated  and serene

the knowledge
that over many centuries
in this lovely landscape
the border was serious
and hundreds of thousands
lost their lives
in battles   on minefields
in persecutions

almost brings tears to my eyes
in helpless anger
over humankind‘s inhuman waste
of lives

a Pulitzer Prize winner
tells us in an interview
in TIME magazine
that a necessary part
of our future energy
must be nuclear

no word
     about the hazards of nuclear waste
     the advantages of alternative sustainable
          and renewable sources of energy
     or about reducing energy consumption

very strange

I’m just a thin glass vase -

Full of water,
Soaked in sun,
Atop the highest hill
on Mars.

within The Thinker
a wastegland produces fantasy
a training of media guides The Inner Thirst
applies The Racing Brain
it bats Senses dumb
and brings The Being to a standstill

cut off from a navigable point
in The Shared World
I pinch concentration
and seek out The Simple Breath

although, incredible, the dogmatic pursuit of absent-mindedness, two left feet up the [redacted]

i would make a remark about how fast the time has gone
but i never looked up
to see it moving

wish upon a
wish upon a
wish upon a moribund eternally pessimistic star

[if i was a poem, dear disinterested reader, i think i would be a fridge poem. not very profound, nor eloquent, and rather insipid; though it's quite funny that i exist in the first place]

Me & Earl & The Dying Light Emblematic Of, Or Perhaps Symptomatic Of, My Interest In Whatever It Is You Have To Say

met a genie on a long road
delivered with the smoke of a cracked kitchen kettle
juggling three wishes
in his drunken monologue
like a blind man juggles bowling pins
and stupidly i used them all
on making the next few tomorrows disappear
                                                                                        and now i'm here
...

anyway how may i take your order?