The northwest Georgia hills surround me
A cradle for a bulldog and a raccoon and a mimosa tree and what all
I’m from here too, a bulldog and a raccoon and a mimosa
The controlled burn of the pine tree farm crackles through my head
Firebreaks cut across my hands like a whip
Like a courtyard in my high school
My destinys to work a steam shovel
It’s all I’ve wanted since boyhood
Barefoot on the blacktop
Playing horse and aiming nerf guns at my brother
The Appalachian feet surround my home
I want to tear them down
Tear through them with John Henry and the infernal digging machine
Dying for stone is pretty way to the tomb yard
Eleanor Roosevelt is buried in my towns cemetery
3/4 of the way up the hill on the right
The hills of heaven and the mountainous cities of hell are from here too
Them and every single bump in the road

The sun-baked bayou rots in sun-dried tomato heat
This is not a traditional geometric form
No cube, no circle, this shouldn’t be possible
The swamp’s stink lines blur with the waving heat of the pavement
Fresh out the oven
Flattops from the flatlands
Flamingos from the herons
Is Gaea up on new trends?
Wetlands are out we’ve got shiny new sewers
Glistening, gleaming, glowing with 4 star reviews
The development company’s shade trees are still saplings
Shade! Coming here in 15 to 20 years! Mark your calendars
I got the fast pass for the highway so I can look for parking quicker
I heard there’s parking lot with a million spots
My kids’ eyes widen in wonder, Really Daddy?
I nod with a knowing smile, thinking
Wait till they learn about Cyber Monday
Orthogonal forms dominate here
I wonder if herons wake up early for Black Friday?

by which I of course am referring to this keyboard
that i’m writing on now
funny how that works ain’t it
62 minutes until my shift ends
John Prine & the Korean war don’t quite match where I am
clicking pool cues penetrate my headphones
I wonder how many bad games of pool it takes to shake a man’s confidence
by my estimate the answer is never enough
guys that can’t shoot love teaching girls how not to shoot
but the girls don’t usually seem to mind
how very 60’s highschool of it all
maybe Mr. Prine does have something here to say
47 minutes until my shift ends
people trust engineers warns my engineering professor
people trust you to know things he furthers
people trust us to explain
I wish they wouldn’t
tech support & translators for parents & grandparents
people want answers but only when they thought they already knew
40 minutes until my shift ends
pretty good, not bad, I can’t complain
seeing my old highschool teachers at the burrito place where I worked
sinking in the mire of chicken, brown rice, & black beans for minimum wage
ain’t it funny
I can smell the 45 pieces of steak & chicken I grilled when I get home
ain’t it funny
the outrage over the price of guacamole
33 minutes until my shift ends

Asphalt, steaming screams swear words
The offensive smell of pavement post downpour
I think I’d like life better if it rhymed
The chatter and clatter mad hatters me
Sleepless and hopeless with Romans
And their online roads and aqueducts
They slither and snake but there is no more wild in the west
Automated scarecrows with AR-15’s stand guard
O’er amber waves of grain
Eyes open for outlaws and injuns
Cattle ranching of the future
Feeding the world one cubic meter of methane at a time

I know not what the world shall knead me into
What form and what shape and what color I'll end up
I can guess and speculate and give my opinion
But I don't think it's for me to decide
I will just have to keep staggering forward
Every step excruciatingly finite and detailed
While all I can see is nothing
I can't see where I'm going
I can't even see the floor
I know that it's there
I know I'm walking in a direction
And at a certain speed
But I don't even know what I think about it
All I know is I'm along for the journey
So I guess I'll pack my bags

I think we're on a dark road
Use at least 2 pieces of evidence to support your conclusion
Remember you have a glossary
This is a writing assignment not a research paper
My phone is too important to me
And too important for those around me for that matter
It's weird to disconnect
Weird to unwire
Remember class no plagiarism or you will be violating the school's code of academic honesty
I wish I could throw my phone into the sky-colored sea
Feed the electric eels as it were
And people would say 'okay'
But the soul is as digital as our pictures these days
Not photographs but pictures
Pictures and memes and nonsense for nonsense sake
Convenience and luxury at an impossible cost
If you feel absolutely convinced you need to do outside research,
You need to make a bibliography
And cite your sources

I'm on the Metra today
The snow outside is teal or green
Like the Caribbean in cartoons
But here 2 ladders lean on the same tree
A lover's suicide
The coldest Caribbean I've ever seen
The church's sign scrolls by
"ght in the Lor"
And we're gone
The train rumbles on
Bridges cover bridges
New! Tower of Babel (coming soon!)
A couple thinks they're subtle 3 rows up
Michael Jackson marries Elvis's daughter
He didn't go to the wedding
There's no Jewels Osco's in Georgia
But the houses here exude the same drab comfort
A deer stands next to a storage locker
The train rumbles on
I'm smuggling beer back to the dorm
Like the good college student my mom wants me to be
I don't have my phone on me
I've never felt more alone
Or free
I explain what happened to the guy who checks tickets
I dropped it in the floorboard of my friend's car
Right before the train arrived
He believes me thank god
I focus again on what's outside the window
And now it's just trees
Skeletal and bare
The train rumbles on

I wonder about the tea called peace
you know the one in the can
my favorite flavor is sweet lemon
i wonder about it's heft and might
the atoms of tea trapped in the can
begging and begging to be set free
free from the real and free from the unreal
do the manufacturers know about me?
who is the manufacturer?
some guy?
is there even a guy?
well hello there!
some guy
I'm henry
I think your drink is pretty good
I can't help but wonder though about the leaves
you know that's where tea comes from
anyway I have a question for you Mr. Some Guy
if that even is your real name
do you take into account how heavy the can of tea is?
cause it feels nice
a reassuring bundle of matter that says "I take up space"
but it's kind of gross
you know?
the amount of liquid you want me to pour into my stomach
and for that liquid to say "I cost 1.49 at the 7/11"
any ways Mr. Guy,
I just wanted to say thanks

The sky is beautiful tonight
Lavender, salmon, and pink like blushing when someone says they love you
But it's already gone
No one will ever see the colors I just saw
And I feel like blushing
Embarrassed due to long standing aversions to sincerity
5:26 PM

From where I sit at my desk at the gym
The sky is 2 different creatures
On one side
A blood orange backlight is cut and cracked by black naked trees
On the other side
The clouds shift and bubble like fresh squeezed blackberry soda
4 guys from the basketball team practice their 3 point shots
5:51 PM

verily as i sit here
an exercise in automatic writing
in the vain of all those dada artists before me
i sit
and compose
and i wonder
oh how lucky i am
that amongst the marvel of the present
amidst the bone and sinew of my hand
i possess still the ability to type
and to see the beauty
in the real and in the unreal
like those many in my past
oh how lucky i am
and i wonder
just how many before me have loved
in that same way that only i
have loved
loved the feeling of fingers and keyboards
and of cookies in my mouth
and of music in my ears
oh how lucky i am
to be in love
with a woman
a woman as real as me and you
and although she is not here
with me
in this moment
she exists as i imagine her
like the fleeting image of a siren in the sea spray
and i write
oh how lucky i am
and i gaze past my bare legs onto the floor
the floor of my room and i wonder
oh how lucky i am
oh how lucky i am
in love with the image of a coke can
like so many andy warhols before me
and i stare into his sunglasses
on the poster next to my bed
that i got at the art institute of chicago
and i wonder
oh how lucky i am

The horizon took a smoke break at sunset
And 7 hours later she's still gone
No doubt sleeping with the breeze
I stand on the deck in the darkness
Leaning forward
My hands on the rail
Gazing at the infinite mirror, reflecting
The air is as still and cold as the water
Just like the man next to me
He sighs but no vapor forms
He's cloaked in a blue shadow
Like the bottom of the ocean
A darker blue I've never seen
But in a voice clear as ice he asks
'Do you love me?'
I nod
'Not talking tonight?'
I nod
He rests his stygian blue fingers
On the back of my moon-light hand
And we kiss
Enjoying each other
Until the sun clocks in in the morning

Water flows across the forest floor
Slicking the moss and pebbles and earth

We dart above the shimmering surface
Shooting winks and diving for the minnows

We can't normally sing but today
We produce such a tune that the
Cardinals and sparrows and blue jays all listen
To our duet in C major

And even the wind stops stirring up
The clouds in the sky so as not to interrupt

For 3 days we soar and swoop and sing
And it could make up for 50 years

Whenever I went to the beach as a kid
I would count and number the lizards that scampered on the porch
They were like napkins dropped from the hand of someone hurrying down the street
After delaying their commute for a pastry
I wonder years later
Was ever a lizard counted twice?

I can’t help but number every poem I’ve ever written
As a kid I counted everything
Every time I clapped at a school assembly I clapped the same amount:
25 claps every time. I couldn’t stop myself
Children of divorce count more I think
I counted all my Christmases
One with mom, mom’s mom, dad, dad’s mom, and dad’s dad
5 every year

Looking at anything in a self-referential series is like living in liquid glass
Transparent but warped and shifting
The path taken is obvious but misguided
But the numbering freezes time
My first poem about numbering was how I felt then
This is how I feel now
Evolution

‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the homeless, old man begging for change
On the green line station me and my friends get off at to buy coffee
He turns and looks at us
‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the toothless, old man on that cold winter night
As we preemptively pull out our phones and look down at the ground
A defense mechanism
‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the hobbling, old man as we pass him by
Without making eye contact or even a sympathetic nod
If only I had cash on me
‘I ain’t tired!’ repeats the mentally ill, old man while we descend
The stairs down onto the pavement and into Chinatown
The snow continues falling
‘I ain’t tired!’ echoes the starving, old man
His voice ringing in my ears long since we’d left ear shot
The only time I had the courage to glance at him
He was a mess of wires and bone and cloth and paint and white hair
Older than the city I had just begun to explore and call home
Permanently on that train station yelling
‘I ain’t tired!’
‘I ain’t tired!’
‘I ain’t tired!’

most of the angels avert their gaze
a few stare, their glares embedded
in my bare chest and just one
watches quietly from the corner

what would Judas think about
the scarves? one wrapped around
my wrists and the other around
my eyes with my teeth clenched

my back is arched above the
towel you put on your sheets just
in case. did jesus ever think about
his safeword as he hung on the cross?

‘Do you like that?’ whispers Pontius Pilate
gasping I respond, ‘Yes sir,’

I toss and turn for you
   You surround me and subvert my thoughts
The operator behind the switchboard
   Changing the wires from stress to love
With the flicker of your eyes         I unwind
You let me talk and talk and talk
   About jazz and comics and magic and league
         And you smile
I see the stars get to know the fireflies
As I lay facing the night
   The grass cool         The air warm
                          I unravel
And dream         (about you)
And our conversations
and Paris and Italy
And your smile      God your smile
   The most potent drug God could dream up
Like nothing else      I can see it perfectly
Like looking through the windows
   Of an Edward  Hopper painting
      Clear

The warrior walks
Dawn's first light in the forest
A babbling stream

The birds are chirping
He wades through the tide of mist
Around his ankles

The stream is ahead
Dropping his weapon he falls
The battle was won

He saved his village
But suffered a grievous wound
He reaches forward

The ice cold water
Brings wet fingers to his lips
A slight refreshment

Savoring the taste
A bed of wild flowers
A perfect cushion

Weapon behind him
He thinks about his breathing
With grass on his face

Remembers, exhale
His wife and child, inhale
Beautiful, exhale

Remembers, inhale
The days long battle, exhale
His people saved, still

Remembers, inhale
Vibrant colors of spring, still
His daughter's face, still

Remembers, exhale
Cold water on his lips, still
Birds are chirping, still

Wild flowers, still
Rays of dawn pierce the trees, still
A babbling stream

Baseboards lined with spiderwebs
That shimmer in the slanted sun
Next to worn, wooden chairs
Feeling sturdier than ever
Shelves and shelves of
Outdated textbooks and encyclopedias
Crinkly and brown and yellowed
How many trees went into these pages
This forest rearranged
And defaced by movable type

When I think of the greats
Of my favorite poems and poets
The words spring to mind
Perfectly profound
Adept at turning the everyday
Into magic and beauty
They know what we all know
They see what we all see
But only they can write
Without losing what makes it
What it is
Perfectly profound

I crackle through dead leaves
Layered over dry, green grass
Hands in my pockets
Making sure not to trip
I crouch in front of a stranger's grave
A rough, stone reminder
Of a soul lost in time
I read their name aloud
And I let them know they're not forgotten

I sit in my school's dusty library
Like a picture taken on film
Full of grain and texture
Frozen beams of light
Through slanted venetian blinds
Capture and hold dust
Suspended like dew in a spider web

Rigid, impasto clouds
Stick out of the sky
Like Van Gogh
Put them there himself
Sky peaking between
Buildings and towers
Pushed and pulled
Twisted and ripped apart
Like fabric tearing slowly
Moved by the breeze
Invisible currents slicing
A silent cacophony of air
I reach up and feel
Solid, dried paint crackles
Under my finger tips
I pull my hand away
Digits stained white and blue and gray

Shifting streets and their buildings
Pulsing and moving and shaking
Jagged and prickly corners
Edges of windows glint
Like drops of blood
On the edge of a sword
Walls and sidewalks
Rough like a giant cat's tongue
The skyscrapers carve the landscape
Into a distorted forest
An amalgamation of today
And yesterday and the day before that
I reach forward and feel
I pull back in shock
Fingers pricked and knees scraped

I can still picture you here
The afternoon's lemonade sky corrupts the image
Still, you pose for cameras that no longer exist
Only tamped down, long-dead grass remains
This would've been a lovely place for a picnic
Or maybe to make love
Before the fall of reason

I arrive at the corner
All five senses awake
It’s raining, light footsteps, a murmur
Words with no weight
Footsteps on wet streets
Steam rising
Air that is water
I hear without listening

Your body of steam
Your face of night
Your hair of lightning
Your eyes of asphalt
Your fingers of water
I see you in this place

The unhurried lighting unfolds you
You cross the street and enter time
Weightless
The asphalt’s shining
Night walks away
A surge of weight running over me
The rain listens
Not distracted in this moment
Night returns
You and the mist
Figurations of time
Wandering in the dark

Days and years go by
The night is in another time
In the next room
Not here
You lay asleep in your garden
Nestled among the leaves
Adrift of time
Footsteps cover you
No more resurrections
You listen to the rain
A vision

Inventor of the night
The shadow
The rain
Listen to me
See my sorrow
Open my eyelids
Burn the terrace
The grove
The night
The moments

I found myself wanting, wanting for something I could not find
Suddenly I saw your vision, your twisted image filled my mind
I saw you in my nightmares, taunting me from miles and miles away
I tried but I could not save you, so I slipped back into the deep space

Couldn’t realize the state I was in till you showed me my insides
Didn’t know how good i could be till you showed me the bright light
Just give me one more chance just give me one more day...
Cause soon, I’ll be just another airwave.

I don’t know how I got here, I’ve got no memories of my past
All my so called years behind me, no one told me id be so empty this fast
Suddenly I saw the tv, its wretched static rots my brain
I thought i’d take a trip yeah, but no journey could dilute my pain

I put on a shirt I used to let you borrow
You would sleep in it because it smelled like me
But now they're all back in my dresser
And they'll never smell like you again

Windows down
Early summer heat fills every pore in my body
An orange and lemonade sky
I'm shouting along to music you don't love
Normally you'd be here singing with me
Even though it's not your favorite

My thoughts will maim you like Kano
Thinking of the pain-o makes you start drinking the draino
Count your days bro
Time for a puzzle for your brain-o
What likes kit and kaboodle but not the rain-o
I’d tell you but you wouldn’t get it
Like tots listening to Coltrane-o or Jimmy Hendrix
I’ve gots one more question, use your noodle
Pay attention! Better stop picking at your cuticles
Some kids only get to draw yankee doodles
They tag along at home while they eating ramen noodles
Other kids go to games with the family poodle
In the booth they get to sing a song, the Yankee Doodle
  How much wealth do you think is in the bottom half?
  Only 1 percent belongs to most, the riff raff
  Inscribe that graph on my epitaph
  On my deathbed, I just want to hear my children laugh
Many fellas feign money through poverty
The reality of my situation doesn’t really bother me
I’m full of funny sayings like Plato and Socrates
Such catchphrases as hey baby **** on these!
I’m just kidding I would never-ever do that
I have a reputation as a forever-ever cool cat
Whose that? Is he a juul rat? How many tats?
Henry, no, and none. Now say where’s your daughter at?
The poor burn wealth about as much as anyone
Though some can’t easily earn health for they many sons
She turn tricks for her son’s Trix and lego bricks
But in the end we all churn the same River Styx
  How much wealth do you think is in the bottom half?
  Only 1 percent belongs to most, the riff raff
  Inscribe that graph on my epitaph
  On my deathbed, I just want to hear my children laugh
Rich and poor both drinking coca-cola
Stress and storm both scary like paranoia
I’m thinking there’s a little societal unrest
The greatest generation watched King Kong beat on his chest
I want to scream just like Ann Darrow
Yelp for help but the people’s views too narrow
The news only shows what the shiny shoes say to
Not much we can do, so we wait till they get their due
Nothings gonna happen if we don’t make it
So write in, call in, tweet in and even pray it
They won’t admit it if we can’t force them to say it
Our last hope’s revolution, they’re not outdated
  How much wealth do you think is in the bottom half?
  Only 1 percent belongs to most, the riff raff
  Inscribe that graph on my epitaph
  On my deathbed, I just want to hear my children laugh

Sometimes I put on nicer clothes
Put some effort into my outfit
So I can continue to sit at my at my desk
Looking good for no one but me
And that's enough

It was just a Thursday
Mrs. Howell told us to read the Frankenstein excerpt by Tuesday
We didn't really care
We were only gonna be out 2 extra days
Just a long weekend
Whatever

I am tone deaf at the very least pretty bad at singing
And I have plenty of flashes of self-doubt
And sometimes I stop myself when I'm with other people
But I've found the truth is that people don't care
They kinda realize I'm having fun
Or maybe I realize it
I hope you realize it too
Do what makes you happy
Sing in the car

Why are they numbered
It feels like there's more to it
It's just what I like

Might never return
But does it really matter
I don't think it does

I do it for me
Maybe someone will notice
They might think it's cute

A crisp cold can of coke
I like writing about coca cola
It's my favorite drink to drink
There's something so good about writing it
A crisp cold can of coke
It springs to mind and to tongue like coke from a soda fountain with a simple depression of the little lever
Nothing is more evocative than the crack, snap, or pop of a crisp cold can of coke
It brings forth fond memories
Of childhood and summer and my ex girlfriend and my grandma
And some of my favorite artists too
Andy Warhol and Frank O'Hara for example
I like to think they share my sentiment
That there's almost nothing better than a crisp cold can of coke
It's something so American and something so mine
There's nothing I'd rather have on hot or a cold day
Then a crisp cold can of coke

The crack of a coke can
Takes me back
To summer days
We woke up
You came over
I made some sandwiches
We shared the same plate

If your amazing poem is too long for the line just cut it off because that wa

Derive a formula that describes N hands clapping where N is either less than or more than 2

What's your favorite GoArmy.com commercial?
Mines the one where the make it look like a superhero movie
Completely unrelated
What's your favorite piece of propaganda?

Our Father, who art in the flames
Hallowed be thy name
Their kingdoms fall
Thy will was done
You gave us our freedom
We remember your sacrifice
And we will not forgive blasphemy
May you burn their temptations
And keep us from the smolder
For thine is the fire
The freedom, and the sacrifice
Forever
Amen

Shall I compare thee to a broken watch
A piece of garbage all but twice a day
Existing to be broken on the rocks
Remember the father and where he lay
But gone is the age of the stoics babe
Now rust and rot control the fall of glass
Not one was witness to the violet grave
Except the people in the razor grass
But nothing's nice under an ochre sky
Although your sickened tick is worse than most
And you betray the father with your lie
As if his sacrifice was but a joke
A life in the waves could pay all your dues
Best get comfy in your new concrete shoes

First get out the jar
Mix the matcha and water
And shake it real hard

Fill the jar with ice
Now it's time to add the milk
Shake and shake and taste

The color is good
I hope the milk's not too strong
I added too much

Again? *******
I always add too much milk
Matcha flavored milk

Still, I will drink it
It's better than if it was plain
Next time for sure though

This haiku is weird. Most haikus have just 3 lines. Is this a haiku?

See?

These aren't for English
Probably good in Japan
We will never know

Why do I miss school
I’m surprised I miss it
But not that surprised
I mean I watch educational videos for fun after all
But still
I mean
It’s school
Like School school
The same school I’ve kinda hated all my life
The same one that everyone else also loves to hate
But now we all miss it
What happened?
What’s going on?
These are the end times
But hey I’m going for runs now
I even ordered shoes
They got delivered in one day
And that’s free delivery
And I’m reading books!
Made of paper!
I got them at the library
You know that big building near downtown?
They’re about history and/or economics
And at least the weather’s nice
I mean it could be worse
And I get to sleep in
My school work is pretty easy
I get to play video games
And I’m spending more time with my family
We’re eating better food
I’m sure the pets don’t mind
I’m doing better than I ever have I think
But I miss school
These are the end times
I’ve never felt like this
No one ever has
This is once in a lifetime
And no one feels good
We’re all both over and under reacting
Pretty unpleasant
This is all gonna define the generation
And there’s nothing we can do
I hope it doesn’t all go wrong
These are the end times
More people posting on instagram
I mean we have a lot of free time
And every commercial mentions “the virus”
They wouldn’t be doing it if it didn't make money
And all every news outlet talks about is the virus
And I get that we need to flatten the curve
But all I see are memes
At least I’m doing my part
I guess
Kinda feels like a horror movie
When the cops don’t believe the protagonist
When they first tell them about the murderer
These are the end times
And what is there to do but wait
I’ll keep going for jogs
I’ll eat dinner with my family
Mom made me quit my job until it all blows over
There’s a little over 100 dollars in my bank account
We’ll see how long it lasts now
People are losing their jobs
People who need their jobs
The economy’s going to be in rough place for years
And no one really knows hows it’s gonna shake out
Maybe we’re overreacting
I don’t think so but you never know
I’ll just keep hoping for the best I suppose
What else can I do?
These are the end times