The yellow aura
spiraled my night elf hunter avatar
as the DUN-DUMM
of false accommplishment
incited my addiction to
instant gratification.

I had just Leveled up.

The quest giver
gave me a choice

****** boots
Or
a less ****** Dagger

I took the ****** boots
because
**** the system
they looked cooler.

I was going to stomp cave spiders anyway,
what's the point of relinquishing
looking **** fine.
for an extra Attack Point?

****** Boots.

****** boots ALL Day long.

A naked human avatar
dances
facing a naked gnome
Named: "Buzz Lightyear"
He is Also dancing,
at crotch height.

This is Typical starting zone
foolery

I stayed up
watching Toonami all night
Naruto, Bleech, Inuyasha.
I could tell the sun came up
not because there was a window in my Kitchen,
there wasn't.

Tom and Jerry came on.
everyone knows
when Tom and Jerry came on
you were no longer pulling an
"all nighter."
You're pulling a
"Drink enough Soda
to get through the rest
of the day-er"

My entire diet
these past two days
has consisted of Gushers & Vault
because
Clearly Coca-Cola is superior
to Pepsi.

Therefore, Vault
was superior to Mountain Dew.
Which is the typical choice drink
of my internet brethren.

I don't know why I dyed my hair black nobody online could see it
But it made me feel
more
like my Night Elf Avatar

I wanted long white hair
I realized that's impossible
in 6th grade
So I Bought & Settled for Black
At least I could be like
"L" from death note,
Long sleeve white shirt, jeans
with no shoes.

I could also be
any other black-haired charecter
From any other angsty Anime
Because of course I loved angsty Anime
Because I held my cell phone like "L"
From Death Note.

I always dreamed
of this singing venus fly trap.

A Fuzzy Memory with a lost Origin
I realized seven years later
the Singing venus flytrap in my head
was AUDREY 2
from Little Shop Of Horrors.

Netflix reunited us in College
Audrey 2 finally Serenaded Me.
I listened with Voyeuristic Intentions
As memory saprilings grew
into the full songs
relieving the void in my soul
Lingering for a Man to be attacked
by a singing venus fly trap
in his own kitchen.

But only once,
Because I firmly beleived
movies should only be seen once
until I stopped
dyeing my hair black.
Despite watching Space jam
more times than any kid born in 1995 Should have
but still
all the kids born in 1995
watched space jam
more than any of them should have
because they were born in 1995.

Apparently
when I first saw little shop of horrors
it aired just before osmosis jones.

I love osmosis jones
almost as much as I love
Buzz lightyear, of Star Command

Buzz lightyears robot companion XR
reminded me of Cyberchase
and to this day Cyberchase
is the best show to watch
when you have no idea
who Gilbert Godfrey is.

Zoombinis is better
than oregon trail.
and also better
than Tom and Jerry.
but not better
than leveling my night elf Hunter.
Named:
"FEED ME A PIZZA!"

I think I spent more time
getting my Zoombinis
to look just right
then I Spent deciding
what outfit to wear

Routine
Black striped Hoodie
Unwashed and worn every day
Grey skulls all over it, because
of course it had grey skulls all over it.
Black pants.
Black socks
No actually, THESE black socks.
Okay, got gushers
and my Coca-Cola.

I now take as much time
to choose my outfit as
designing the perfect Zoombini.
however I have yet to replace
my legs
With
a skateboard.

I think that every grade before sixth grade is fourth grade
and 6th grade is basically 7th grade
which is to say my memory skips them both
to remember ending eighth grade

I miss being cool on the Internet
Whilst lame and forgotten in real life.

like black sock
wasn't quite as good
as that other Black sock.

I wanna go back.
To the seperation
Of who we pretend to be
Vs. who we actually are.
To be dramatic again.
incomparable.

An ideal self on the internet
Who is obviouslly not the real you
is decades more comforting
than Some Characatureized
Facebook Profile.

Today I was offered a choice

Work A minimum wage job
or
continue my useless college degree.

I decided to write a poem, because
**** the system.
If I am to Decide where to respawn from
Let it be poetry.

There is no spiraling Yellow aura
or DUN-DUMM

Sometimes there is snapping though.
Or a lost memory
of A singing venus Fly Trap.

I am a pretend person.
An avatar
just now, I have skin.
You can touch me
I breath without a Macro
or even pressing any keys.

I cannot bring myself to
Watch Space Jam again.
I can Identify Gilbert Godfrey's voice.
I will buy my children zoombinis
And it will collect dust
When all they want
Is to watch the fifth Toy Story movie
Way more than any kid born in 2020 should.
And all the kids born in 2020
Will Watch the fifth Toy Story Movie
Way more than they should
because they
will have been born
in 2020.

And I will rant
about the Missing LGM
and Warp Darkmatter
betraying Buzz Lightyear
By joining Evil Emperor Zurg
So Buzz was forced
to get three new Partners
Princess Mira Nova
Audrey 2
and Osmosis Jones.
because I will have Forgotten
Booster & XR.
Because Booster and XR
Never made a ******* Facebook Profile.

Nobody exists anymore.
We are all represented by our avatars
holding ourselfs up to the standards
of our photoshopped reflections

Being disappointed and overwhelmed

I Take pills to forget that I am
Acting Like myself
but can't find any evidence of Existing.
Besides these memories
of who i used to be.

I want my internet persona
to be nothing like me
So that I may focus on myself
in the real world coherently.

I want thick black lines
dividing mental Venn diagrams

I want Tom and Jerry
To signal me
That it is morning, again.

when the aliens come down in their spaceship
when they land on earth after their lightyear-long trip
would they see the war? would they see the hate?
would they see the body count? would they see the weight
of our actions when we cause all this pain?
would they take one glance at earth and never come again?

.
                                 TO
                           INFINITY
                       AND BEYOND
                       TO   INFINITY
                       AND BEYOND
                       TO   INFINITY
                       AND BEYOND
                       TO   INFINITY
                       AND  BEYOND
                       TO    INFINITY
                       AND BEYOND
                       TO    INFINITY
                       AND BEYOND
           TO INFINITY  AND BEYOND
       TO INFINITY AND   BEYOND TO
          INFINITY AND   BEYOND TO
              INFINITY    AND BEYOND.

The wheel of the quivering meat
conception
Turns in the void expelling human beings,
Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nits,
Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan
Racinghorses, poxy bucolic pigtics,
Horrible unnameable lice of vultures,
Murderous attacking dog-armies
Of Africa, Rhinos roaming in the
jungle,
Vast boars and huge gigantic bull
Elephants, rams, eagles, condors,
Pones and Porcupines and Pills-
All the endless conception of living
beings
Gnashing everywhere in Consciousness
Throughout the ten directions of space
Occupying all the quarters in & out,
From supermicroscopic no-bug
To huge Galaxy Lightyear Bowell
Illuminating the sky of one Mind-

Poor!
I wish I was free
of that slaving meat wheel
and safe in heaven dead.

you shine bright as the sun
you're as beautiful as the
stars in the night sky

you're more brilliant
than a shooting star
more rare than a comet

i'm red with anger
much like mars
over not being in the
same room as yours

your blue eyes
draw me in and
make me feel safe
and comfortable

much like uranus
and neptune
their beautiful pale blue
color matches your eyes

don't forget the kindhearted
yellow color of venus
named after the goddess
of love aphrodite

that planet can represent
my love for you
because you're my light
in the darkness

of all space
and to end this
know that if you leave
like pluto

i'll miss you dearly
so please stay
another lightyear
and be my moon

together we'll create harmony
within ourselves
and within each other
because we're all stars

Perfect: I used that word once to talk about you
as if you were a doll with limbs made of plastic:
stiff and whimsical and subject to the niggardly
commands of the conscious- yet you, who thinks
as aggressively as any doll-house builder do not
construct your own set-pieces; instead you
pirouette into one carefully constructed day to the
next as you delicately
stride
from bed to shower to wardrobe to mirror to desktop to
window to mirror to mirror to
mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them
all-
and the staid look on your face when the mirror gives no
answer
because it can’t. Checkered skirt, sharp eyelashes, wary
jumper, almost heels. Perfect, you might think
for a moment before your eyes roll gently from self
to mirror
to self
to mirror
to mirror
the self. What was
it that you were looking for if all it does is lead
you back to your skin? Meanwhile, the snow
stutters softly from above as if God had dandruff-
perfect- and it all gently glazes the spongy surface of the world like
flawless coconut icing on some sorry party cake- perfect- and the morning
bell rings impossibly on time like the last
breath you thought was your last- perfect- and somewhere in
America I use words to remind you of the little
unreachables
of perfection that both start and end with your perfectly
snow-pale skin, where somewhere in
America and somewhere on
your thighs perfect ridges of red have formed themselves like
plastic scratches on a Barbie which we both think
are little but we both know
are big
because you are not plastic.

                                               At nighttime our feet
skip on the icy brick pathways that lead from
the dorm-rooms to the library and we shiver
as the snowflakes bob in and out of our bodies
like thoughts
that seem funny but aren’t quite- they melt away
as soon as they stumble upon our skin. From our mouths
cloudy puffs of being flutter out- little butterflies affirming
out listless snowflake-filled minds, sperming out ice-clouds
from our mouths, our mouths, our mouths; birthing friendship.
Breath, visible, is laughter. I trip and swear and momentarily
skate
across a sudden ice-surface as you speak another ice-breath. We
arrive
at the library but dart towards the empty right-side, the science
classrooms. We hope
to examine the thought-skirmishes on your right thigh, to turn  
and change this hopeless world-spinning into centrifuge
separation-
make apparent the light from the dark
                        the firmament from the void
                        the flesh from the plastic, the-
here we are as you talk
about your family and I
try my best to look you
in the eye so I
can become
your eyes
even when
normally
I
am
so
vehemently
against

staring

at the soul-gates of another being-
here we are as you talk;
God is still missing from the centrifuge
of the endlessly turning world- your
axis
is your skin yet
you trust it
not. The salads without dressing,
        the weighing scales,
        the taste of bile at the back of your
throat-
all for skin that
       you
do
not
      trust.
All for flesh that you think is plastic
so
     you
     cut.
      
             Enough
talk because the bell cuts through the flesh
of our conversation. Enough
talk because the world insists on
turning still
and forcing us to revolve
with it. Enough
breathing, enough
snow, enough
life. I remember you saying
that the ratios of your face are wrong;
that certain equilibriums do not exist between
your cheeks your lips your eyes your life…I remember the science
classrooms where parts of you were as mathematical as the architecture... I remember how
you keep thinking your flesh is plastic… You forget how
inglorious the nature of these words is. The problem
with human thought, with the ratios of your face, with the
geometric structures that cut across your thighs, with the
statistical neatness with which your family decomposes;
the problem with our conception of perfect is how
awkwardly it both exists and does not exist for us to
see.
The ratios of your face which you think are broken are
the same miracles I wonder about as you laugh. The incorrect distance
from your cheek to your eye which you think is wrong is the same
lightyear which separates the stars from the planets. The curvature
of your stomach is the bending of a spacetime to accommodate
the way the air must move to let your body occupy the space and time in which it
exists.
The ratios you speak of spring from your own limitlessness, your own
perfect imperfections , imperfect perfections-
strange oddities and unfathomable beauties and yes. Yes,
even the ridges across your right thigh are minute, red,
gasping
grand-canyons of
flesh,
of human, of breathing clay
flesh-
           never
plastic;
            always
worthy.
            
              Recently the voices in my head have been getting louder,
telling me all sorts of things about how the snow ought to bury me
in its mercilessness. They mention also that my words bear no meaning,
my thoughts even less so. Assumedly, the ridges across your thigh
carry such spectres as well but, I messaged you before you went to bed
about coming out and having an adventure because tick-tock-tick-tock…tick…tock…tick-
the last bell of the day is going to ring soon and the voices and ridges
will assert themselves again with the bedtime silence, but check your Facebook
messages and come outside and let’s go skipping with your friends across
the century-old polished prep-school brick pathways that smell archaic because it’s

snowing outside and it’s lovely.

If you saw me
I might be upside down,
Different spectra of vibrations
Pulsing from my goosebumped knees.
I imagine if I sweep my arms back and forth
Across the benthic stretches of our skies
I may feel your structure
In the crease of my thumb.

I reach my hand out to touch you.
Your elbow is somewhere in space,
Bent a certain posture.
It's possibly inverted,
But it could be rigid and reaching for my hair.
I think your forehead may point toward my collarbone,
Protruding like deer antlers.
In your universe my collarbone looks different,
Objects that will never be
metaphoric molds for my words,
But exist in every third line of your poetry
You may or may not write.

In-between our possible distance
There are millions of bodies,
Or just a few.
Neither of these options we can see
Or touch.
We will never know how close our blinks are.
Yet I can feel my breath rush down my chin,
Knowing if we ever found each other
Your exhale would twist into mine.

Her legs hang low,
just above the night's whispering tide,
illuminated only by dawn's dim light.
Polar limbs and the nonlinear confide.
She does not hide. No, not on this night.

Her outstretched arms
question the supposed limitless oblivion.
For foot by mile, lightyear by revolution,
she has seen everything:

Loves enactment upon re-enactment,
The crying of the lost and lonely infant,
the rodent's of the night that creep and crawl along
a city's cobblestone streets,
and she has seen two worlds fall asleep
time and time again.

The moon has already heard forever
yet each night she listens to a different tune.

The moon is forever.
The light and the wise coccoon.

I.

My blood was glistening meteor glows after
        the modern jazz I spent all night trying
        to carve into genius.

Hanging on the the blue notes of
        saxophones like a madman hooked to
        his syringe, and then you petrified me...

But I began to shake.

The spirit of all my ballads has returned to
        me at last.

Dug yourself out of my past, into the
        bedroom thought fractures — I call
        them modern art — but plugged into
        your Dada spirit, the abstract turns into
        star clusters,

And I'm burning for that cosmic wishing well.

Just hoping for your radiation to spread over
         our lightyear gap, that gap that always
         made coexistence so impossible.

When Calliope calls,
     I'd advise anyone answer...
      But you're twice as golden
       And thrice as red
         As Calliope has ever been.

Torn in your sandstorm.
Blinded by this vision of your second  
        coming.

Back in one piece, one whole, one complete
        consciousness, and all after I tried my
        damnedest to rip you apart, poetically.

Only in reflection and confrontation did I see
        how wrong it all felt.

That is not poetry
There was no peace.
That does not spawn Justice,
And you did not warrant my contempt.

I idolize you for you are what I am not.
I am mesmerized as we are exactly the
        same.

II.

The things you do not know.

I must have started typing you fifty times,
        never hitting send since my dark
        Crispin's Night.
I never hit send.
Not once.
I built imaginary worlds where you were my
        abuser, with my loneliness a
        pawn, but a crucial one.
Those thoughts that latched on to the back
        corners of my insecurity, and reassured
        me I was void of worth most every
        night...
I turned those thoughts into you—
Spilled those ******* thoughts into reality,
        and it took your shot of venom to place
        it all back into perspective.

If you're wondering what I've been up to
        since you left, my calendar hasn't
        hasn't moved a single page.

III.

The mythos never told me that Erato could
        address me back—
Muse that I pray on.
Muse that I mull over with Whitman.

I take this chance to lift you up, as you've
        been floating me over this rural skyline
        for months now.
Let me see the city.
I only wish to live.
I see governments toppled in the tint of your
        face, with the lights low, the air quite
        heavy for me.
You had to feel like a Goddess,
Even your distant screams had your mark of
        perfection.

IV.

You're the one I envy.

Dozing off under the anger of conservative
         politicians talking about life...
Erato, darling, what do these guys know
         about life anyway?
To lie as profession
Lie for the masses
Lie for the wealth of corporations
Lie for self-justification
Lie for the war effort
Lie for the public spectacle that can be
        reduced to little more than fetus magic.

I'd rather be haunted by anything else.

Emigration sounds so lucrative.

V.

It's time to cut open the system.

I wish society, when cut open and guts
        hanging, strung up in a gallery, looked
        like the spirit of a Scrabble screaming
        match, less like estimations of
        "necessary" civilian casualties.

It's time to piece in your abstraction.

Let's flip the script from faith-lit sketchbook
        into reality.
Let's show the world the graces of speaking
        in comedy, the asset we lost when we fell dark under our lack of communication.

Blessed to reestablish what we cannot take for granted.

Iris bonfire to highlight your drive,
But it's only determination,
Your gift of beatitude.

You can move through mazes with such precision and grace.

I should have never let my admiration pull me under a tide of greed.

As much as I value the ability
        to cut away at masses of abstraction,
Still covered in their vague seal of illusion
        you don't condone,
I'd submit to trade for even a bit of your  
        structure,
And let you have the absinthe that coats my
        soul.

VI.

Drink on how we are in harmony.

I'm already drunk on your hesitance.

Everything about your being is skewing my world.

I feel the changes, while the cold sets in,  
        across their javelin flight path.

These aren't the kind of thoughts you can't
        damp down with epilepsy medication.

I'm nearing clarity.
I'm inching in on human purpose.

VII.

I locked you away on my nightstand,

Next to Jailbird, in great irony.

I never let you argue your rights.

I wasn't just being inhumane, it was
        borderline unconstitutional.

Anger from hate, as always.
Coping in flawed fashion, yet smiling at your
        likeness.
Condemning you at public displays of
        Satantic litany,
Fell broken when you were in attendance.

Never again will I carry that false prophecy.

I couldn't escape your sway if I tried.

In the middle of folding laundry one afternoon
thinking this might not be a big deal
but then again it's not such a bad way to spend the day and
the back door opened and
my neighbor showed up in full paintball gun attire and
pointed his paintball gun at me and
yelled at me to get on the ground!
i smiled and
put down my child's underwear and
grabbed his Buzz Lightyear sound and
light activated laser gun that he had recently gotten for Christmas and
aimed it at him and
yelled NO! You get on the ground and
then 40 men rushed into my house and
at least 10 of them had rifles and
i was thrown down on the floor,
wood floor,
right cheek made direct impact and
**** that hurt and
i heard a shout of a voice ordering the 10 men with the 10  rifles pointed at my head
not to shoot and
that the shoot to **** order was off,
that it was a toy plastic gun,
he repeated,
it was a plastic children's toy and
in one fell swoop of motion my right shoulder was taken out of its socket and
**** that hurt and
twisted around behind my back  in order to handcuff that hand to my other hand and
stand me up and
walk me out as I watched dozens and
dozens of what i could only presume to be storm troopers from the Star Wars movies wearing white protective gear covering their shoes bodies and
faces entirely
spilling into my house with the great invasion of an ant colony and
several groupings of men in black pants and
black shirts with white letters on the back spelling out different acronyms such as S. W. A.T., and
K.B.I,  KDH&E;  
The storm troopers were actually Bio HAZ MAT men
testing to see if  the air quality in the house was higher than their acceptable limits of
risk of having a chemical explosion occur
while in the house on that afternoon of January
when officers of the  Sheriff’s Office Special Operations Group
executed a search warrant at my house on Main St.in my small town in Kansas and
made entry at the location and
took me into custody while
Certified **** Lab Techs from the Sheriff’s Office
collected 2 Mountain Dew bottles and
some rubber tubing and
rendered the items safe and
Agents of HazMat Inc. were contacted and
responded to collect the hazardous materials for disposal
I sat in the back seat of the cop car and
thought this might be a big deal
this could be a bad way to spend the day

Stars are history lit by lightyears of time
There is one for every being that ever lived
Every blade of grass, every greatest mind
That is why they are uncountable
(The value of life cannot be measured)

Light travels in years and years
Faster than cars every drunken day
It’s no wonder that it starts the planets spinning
Sets the universe in a haphazard dance
(Though music doesn’t conduct in the absence of air)

We don’t see stars like the dinosaurs did
We see stars as they existed back then
A lightyear is a tower with a thousand floors
On every one there’s a doorway filled by glass
(These lives are not yours to live, not yet)

You and me, we’re all condensed explosions
Speckles of supernovas and molecules of galaxies
Humans are a thousand sparks of history
Condensed into one hundred years
(The past repeats because it is always reborn)

Dreams are a symphony played by chance collisions
Seconds in a blink of eternity’s eye
Yet a single thought can flash-bang a revolution
Save a life or take a future
(No matter how you’re small, you really do matter)

We can map space to the edge of our sightline
Make quadrants for fire and roadways for brightness
Though it’s hard to draw lines through thinner than air
To hold electricity in a loop of motion
(Mastery over kinetic does not a monarchy make)

Every day we walk through echoes of motion
Fading into combination and reflecting forensics
Don’t dust for fingerprints, dust for enlightenment
The inspiration in the flowers of a fairy ring
(Eternal dances with skeletons always have the best music)

Shake hands with the ghosts of every stuttering memory
Life is a game played with actions, not words
We the people has always meant people, not person
That’s why East Coast waves echo on West Coast shores
(Midwest sings salt ’n dust chemical rain)

I’ve met people capable of infinite kindness
I’ve been beaten down by unconscious hate
It’s always a game of chess in this world
No one has less than twelve reasons for what they do
(Except with love, which is madness, which doesn’t count)

Every star has a person to belong to
Every past holds hands tight with the future
Every spark has a little bit of kindling
And the crescendo of dreams shifts the world on its foundation
(Burning bright means so much less than helping others catch flame.)

Triggered much
I'm the boss
Take the loss -
I'm the sauce *****,
A1

Call my bluff
Mindless thots
Gobble ****
Catch me bustin
Like it ain't nut

Go to sleep

Fighting wars with keyboards,
While Grandma knits
Globally postal
Wit that anthrax mix
only hoping that reality splits;

These Lizard overlords
be slitherin quick
Underground:
u kno this wigga, B. Hittin-Licks

I’m ****** imminent  
to infinity and beyond
This dude buzzed lightyear,
Woody full attention;
Lil Bo Peep
She be getting no sleep,
Its a methed up situation yuh

This the celebration

Make yo ****
fissure into splinters
Crack the Ripper
with my finger
on the trigger
just hope it dont slip
~make you quiver
Rock a tight sphincter

Boi got nothing to lose
u bet your *** that I deliver
Devastating maneuvers
leave you hatin fools
Like who dis kid
with parkinsons jitters

Its a disgrace
cant lace ya shoes
But tryna play catch up
**** outta my face
*****,  hail the victor ya trippin'

Make no mistake,
my alias is satan
You lost the game
Restart the mission?

Dyslexic peasant,
I brought yo presents
I'm aggressive
reckless and relentless
got a rope necklace take some lessons

Finna hit em with that finisher
Sippin licks with dinner sure
Smokin out the villagers
**** and pillage conqueror
Down the bottle slurring words
Blurring out the big pictures
Swinging from a high fixture
Slanging sherm above the curve

rello I be rollin
biscuit limp but i be blowin
Out the water laps I'm stroking
Real **** love got homies choking

Smoke bricks kick rocks
Got the socks on with the flip flops

Golf cap on my noggin
Give me top like its hats off
grab some charmin
keep that *** soft
***** gravier than thicc sauce
Like my salad full toss
About to clobber em
Jump jump ***** crisscross

Taskforce Outlaws with chainsaws
Pale horse when that bass drop

And it’s occured to me
Since I lack the courtesy
To say the pleasantries
fore i be pushing out them boundaries

Killer O.J. quenches thirst
a murderous summer is the worst
But if the glove fits, must acquit
need a magnum, Jonnie Cochran
blast em wit the Chewbacca defense

Flowerboy spit my seed *****
Loose lips in the whip aye
Firmly grasp the shaft
when I switch lanes
Pallets of ******* call me rick James
Pull up round the clock
Gone off that rock
Knocked my mf block off ***** I'm insane
Tha fire token renegade

through that snapback
Spills ya ****** brains

Where along did the line become dotted?
When did the line become crossable through gaps?

Steady white line, double parallel yellows
Following this lined street till I find the end,
Till I get to the bottom,
Till this drawn line stays constant and cannot be crossed.

Who was the first to cross this line that is so drawn on my soul?
That so moves me to boil with red convection and spill
Drips down my pan side face. Third degree flame ignited pain
In every line of bone and vain in my body.


Walking by playground filled with shouts and laughs,
Stomping little feet, hands of monkeys.
Nothing but joy and impressions, pressed into the skin.
Children are so easily impressed.

The blacktop filled with lines is the child’s whole world
Of lines to frolic at four-square or hop-scotch to the jungle bars.
On the way to the cafeteria to lunch with pink and blue tennis shoes
And lunch boxes of Snow White and Buzz Lightyear
Listen when told to stay in line.


Listen to:
Lines of scratched skin. Lines crossed.
Lines of makeup drips. Lines crossed always remembered.
Lines of people trying to forget
Being line crossed by one who found a gap.

In the middle of that same bad dream
I always try to wake you up before it happens.

To you who veers the line, you who crossed
You who stings, you who injures:
When and where I meet you,
I will show you these lines.
I will teach you.

There’s no fear in the place
I’m going to be in a few years,
In the time it takes to tune a piano,
In the decades of a dog’s wagging tail.
There’s nothing scary there.

When I’m as many years older
As there are seconds in a lightyear,
Or sound waves in wallpaper,
I’ll still be ****-a-doodle-doing perfectly
Dandy in a yellow-spotted bouncy way.

When I’ve said and written as many
Words as there are to say on an afternoon,
And when my heart’s as old and big
As orange and gold, as great as
A slide whistle going up, up, up, then,

I’ll see what I saw when I was
The size of a bright laugh:
That all the world, in its infantile grace,
(Even the places nearly shaded from sight)
Is bursting with unexplainable light.

Are you searching
or are you lost
Have you, a map
or are the stars your guide
Because if so I'd like to tell them
To not keep you for long
As the blades of grass I'm sitting on
are starting to suffocate
with the earth beneath
barely keeping themselves together

Are you searching
or are you lost
Because I'd like to know how much longer I have in waiting
or is it even worth all the petals I've strung away
And just in case time runs out
I want you to know that I was here
That I've always been listening
from the other side of the moon

Are you searching
or are you lost
Because perhaps one day
if you do find me
I'd like to tell you about that one time
I felt infinite
with only the night sky as company
and a choir of stars as a lullaby

Are you searching
or are you lost
Because I hope I haven't been the only one
crossing oceans of doubt
and climbing mountains of fear
with hopes of being a lightyear closer from where you are

Are you searching
or are you lost
Because I too, am searching
but I'm quite afraid
I might probably be
a little lost

My heart pounds like the Leonids.
I fail to find the voice to console her.
I do not wish to be the reclining Moon,
Nor the twilight that reminds her of the little things.
She has the eyes of a heavenly body,
I love her blindly.
And as the slow lightyear of a tear
Shoots down to her lips, I wonder
How the stars really taste like.
And so we kiss,

     But it did not change the universe.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

I bought a Joker bobblehead at an antique store
it bobbled it's head as I went out the door
it bobbled and turned  
and with a laugh it said
get me out of this box *****
or I'll slice off your head
I turned right around
went back in the store
and asked for a refund
of $11.54 - including tax
I'm sorry she said
no refunds given here
now you're stuck with that *****
may God help you my dear
he's carved and beheaded
every Woody in my collection
he set fire to Buzz Lightyear
and gave Barbie a c-section
he's the devil himself
inside that bobbin' head
you'd better unload him
or soon you'll be dead
before she could put the closed sign on the door
I heard the feet of the Joker as they hit the floor
now you've done it she moaned
we've lost his *** now
I'm taking lunch
so find him somehow
before I could think of what my game plan would be
a voice, and a bob, bob, bob  from behind laughed at me
'10.99 for the Joker plus tax!?'
and I turned just in time to catch Daniel Boone's ax
between the eyes!

My Cuddlebugs,                                        November 25th, 2010

Good night and sleep tight
     say your prayers every night.
Have pleasant, sweet dreams
     of laughing and playful screams,
and of your joyful friends
     flying kites in the wind
or kicking the ball
     through the leaves of Fall.

Remember this
     and it's first on my list
I'll love you forever
     and we'll soon be together
Our bond is so strong
     to try and break would be wrong.
You're in my heart always
     in my prayers all the days.
To not have you here,
     I shed tear after tear
I'm counting down to the day
     I bring you back home to stay.

What's happening to us isn't fair and you'll see
     that your smiles and laughter belong home with me.
Until then be strong
     even though this is wrong
and again soon our home will have laughter and cheer,
     running and jumping with Iron Man and Buzz Lightyear.
So, until that day I too will be strong
     and together we can go to infinity and beyond!

Love,
MOMMY

I love you and always will but I can no longer beg or force you to stay.
I don’t know how much more pain and heartbreak my heart can take.
Don’t fall in love with a poet because your heart will break and you know it.
I wish someone had told me that before I fell so deep in love with you.
Within your circle of friends someone knew that you were falling in love with someone new.
But you kept me waiting all this time just so you could let me down like gravity.
I gave you the galaxy but somehow you still needed more space – that was very imprudent of you.
My Buzz Lightyear heart was willing to love you to infinity and beyond.
The buzz my love gives out could last for light-years so this is more than just another toy story.
Love does not know the pain it heals and pain does not know the love it seeks.
It’s hard walking away from a girl whose arms I’ve always wanted to run into.
What should I do now with the love that I have always wanted to give to you?
Someone knew that you were gradually falling in love with someone new.
You should have known where I was coming from; I was doing just fine before you came along.
Someone knew that there was a possibility that I closed myself off from loving someone new because of you.

Bars of the year
Im lightyears ahead of my peers
They need lightyear speed to be at least near
Im already in the future my flow galatic
Futuristic bars thats traveling
At the speed of light
You can Only catch a image with satellites
Flow like black holes
My mind celestial
To be technical ima extraterrestrial
Flyer than an astro
Im passed pluto
An Almighty being gave me this cerebral
My presence can be felt in the devils cathedral
Yall space shuttles need more artificial intelligence
I beat rappers wit my past flow thats past tense
Even in the present
im better
my mind need some excedrins
Im jus continuing from the sequel
My past flow was even unbeatable
Its not legal
To be thinking

I honestly can’t tell you how I feel if I haven’t fully internalised my emotions.
My ex-girlfriend used to tell me that showing vulnerability is a weakness.
Even when we were both falling in love, she always kept her distance.
For a good reason that never sat well with me, that’s why we let each other down like gravity.
I’ve been repeatedly questioning myself for over some time now, why am I lacking longevity?
We could never rewrite our history because even if I gave her the galaxy, she would still need more space.
My Buzz Lightyear heart was willing to love her to infinity and beyond.
This is pain and poetry, this is me drowning in depression and loneliness.
This is me admitting that I am an emotional wreck, my heart is in a mess.
I’ve been concerned about caring for everyone that I lost touch with loving myself wholeheartedly.
I’ve been concerned about caring for everyone that they gradually stopped checking up on me.
So, from this point onwards, know that all these poems will no longer be written the same.
These words cannot explain the tidal waves of mystery I always find myself drowning in.
These waves of depression drown me in complete silence, so even if I cried for help you wouldn’t be able to hear me.
It’s unfortunate that even if I cried for help you wouldn’t be able to save me.

Feeling the palm of your hand in mine is all I can ask for in order to feel calm. Sometimes I fear that I miss my life passing by as I'm trying so hard to remember everything, trying desperately to record instead of actually listening. I feel as though I live more through my memories than I do in the present, and even while they are happening I begin to feel nostalgic for the moment at hand; I know that life is the sand of an hour glass, but I still cry when the grains slip between my fingers. I want to shatter the glass of this containment, but instead I trace the curve like I would of your cheek, wishing for every yesterday to last forever. They say there are more stars in the sky than the number of grains of sand on every beach on Earth, and I know how each kiss burns like a lightyear. I can't imagine how long it would take to count these seconds, losing time with every breath

We wish you a happy Halloween
To celebrate Halloween
Party on at Halloween
Yes that sounds so radical dude
Party with the goblins
Party with Dracula
Party with the ghosts
Party with monsters
Party with Godzilla
Oh yeah we will be happy at
Halloween yes we will celebrate it oh yeah
Party with red cordial for blood
Lolly snakes for worms
Black liquorish for the bowerconstricter
Yes that sounds really rad
Kids going trick or treating
Dressed up as characters they like
Some people go as Tim the toolman
And buzz lightyear and mr potato head
Happy Halloween happy Halloween
Happy Halloween everyone

hiding behind images:
rather than standing before shadows...

perhaps it sounds better
in german, in german:
it (being german) is more...
informative...

or at least... that's how i see words
as...

example... DOG...
will i hide behind an image...
or will i... stand before the shadow?

as bad insurgent "translations" go...
this is where you find the "lost"
artefacts...
why would a ****** snuggle
up with some deutsche-spreschen
bollocking: to begin with?

we have settled our difference...
we have to have them...
wir haben zu haben: ihnen!

Plato... and iconoclasm...
christmas is over and i can,
finally! celebrate!
we do like in a democratic pseudo
state of affairs...
no man shall reign for more than
100 years...
even if he is god-bound....
but this little *******...
******* pivot,
it all begins with him and ends:
with him...

before all the greek demigods...
i will seek: being naive...
i will seek... keeping my mouth shut...
i will make minor details:
enlarged protest projects!
perhaps the german will
clarify...

verstecken (the past tense...
i never found it...
the paste of hiding...
to be couple with a present participle
of still... hiding)

verstecken hinter bilder...
lieber als stehen vor schatten!

die architektur aus wörter
(von Goethe... "von wörter"...
'goeRte')

nichts nein!

what is a melancholic arson?
the inflamed heart: its last willing rubric
genesis...
the mind is either automated cold
or stitching up cobweb matrixes of borrowed
time... but the heart...
oh a heart can become something more
than the bundle of clockword muscle...

i have tried to keep this mind
candle-lit and "curious"...
to keep it: intellectually focused...
to be prone of being starved: retaining
being a curious case of:
but i've found extinguishing points
of reference...
the only stupidity i found was...
it was going to be: oh so... predictable...

the modern tongue...
libra! meet the hydra...
i can either hide behind images...
and fuse them with words...
or i can... stand before these shadows...
these skeletons...
and properly disguise an "alternative
arithmetic"...

there's no point arguing over what is,
and what isn't "central europe"...
the masses have spoken...
we know what's fly-over territory when
it comes to h'america...
there's the east coast and the west...

but i will keep borrowing german
to... to the best of my abilities...
pretend to leisure myself in the comment
section, of the serious, sober,
liberal elites!
the true mind grifters and...
perhaps the odd chance of
a dutch puritanical rabbi...
to... "manage" an equilibrium...
to... not... rattle the boat...

common theme: i drink, i want to speak german,
i'm dead: i want to speak german...
i want to tell jokes in german...
-esque buzz lightyear in toy story 3 with
his... hispanic psychosis interlude...

i've experienced psychosis...
most... unsatisfying... i never managed
a complete disintegration of the self...
shame... i almost wish i did something...
that would have kept me in
Broadmoor for the past... 12 years...

i'm still "here"... but it's already apparent...
to have invested in german existentialism...
to have invested in... german idealism...
somewhat... and "then" / only now...
do you realise... you're not going to be part
of some ******* bookclub!

oх dye scheiße!
чoпперс chomp!
их... alternatively in eat... east germany...
isch... so?
ишь... alt. being? ихь...
variations go... where the caron... doesn't...

i will not solve you a crossword
puzzle in english...
i still have not opened a bottle
of jack daniels this very night...
and i'm already making a summary
as to: why i will not open
a bottle of jack daniels tonight...

i will... but i'll sniff the bottle-neck
as if it were a line of *******...
and the sober, sensible people,
can have their fill...
they can have their: formal...
promenade poetic excursions into the night...
and they can rhyme rhyme rhyme!
they can walk their ritual crescendo
of left right, left right...
which will never make them odd...
should Beijing stage an army parade
"impromptu"!

have them! have them all!
too bad for me... to bad for you:
to be of those people...
who read books...
that... makes it hard...
to find someone... who also read them...
and when you have...
done both...
you find out... oh, right...
those books were never supposed
to be talked about...
they were supposed to become
cognitive tattoos...
you were always supposed to...
"think" about them...
in "think" as in: not talk about them...

you would never be able to
mainstream them...
regurgitate them... fall flat on your ***...
donkey comparison...

Balaam's donkey...
Jesus' donkey...
i'll repeat this...
Balaam's donkey... Jesus' donkey...
and those four horsemen...
minus one donkey-jockey...
Balaam's donkey... Jesus' donkey...
if only someone told either of them...
about...

one of the donkeys knew...
as my cat knew when... clear as day...
i remember him utter the word:

яабэł...

he had two names: oscar darshan...
i'm way past being crazy...
being crazy these days is:
being known for making yourself
be accustomed to rules and laws...
outside of the rules and laws
that make stealing a criminal act...

otherwise: christmas is over...
now i get to celebrate the every day...
i'm done with this:
worshipping a baby...
on a day... when... Herod did a
Pharaoinic imitation...
major, or minor improvements?
beside the point...
only he exists... the rest of us...
perhaps some... porridge... will suffice?

oh thank god the c.c.t.v. cameras weren't there...
and the sceptical community...
i wouldn't mind some cynics...
but so the story goes...

because why would i want to...
"persuade" anyone toward, anything?
less of me, less of me on instagram...
ensuring i post the perfect
hot-dog sublime piece of legs
before the altar of a swimming pool...
or whatever chlorine cocktail...
with a "missing link" sombrero for
a stump of wood...
excavated from a sacred forest of Lithuania...
or some other variant bollocking...

christmas is over...
i can forget about being secular and sensible
over these past three days...
so i can return to my cognitive religioisity
in the outcast domain of mingling
gnosticism with qabbalah...
and... i can due those said prayers
in silence with my thought...
the ought-i-ought-i-not:
in that sigma-***-theta morph prefix
exemplification... of translation...

dry-humorless: pedantic...
that's me...
because i can finally! finally! breathe!
i can enjoy winter without these
******* fancy-lights!
i can enjoy x-ray vision of skeleton trees...
balding fully...
i can enjoy winter... after all...
winter can only be settled into an armchair
of comfort... when christmas resigns from
being a calendar event...

i can enjoy winter now...
ich dürfen zu genießen winter, jetzt!
ich, auch, dürfen zu genießen:
bekommen betrunken,
bekommen betrunken genug:
zu necken deutsche-tippfehler-quack-sprechen...
etc.

christmas is only christmas come
the 27th of december...
now i can celebrate...
now i can ******* peacock strut me way
(my my my)... into
the never available "oblivion"...
as you do... you really need procreation...
you need children to appreciate christmas...
otherwise you're ******* stuck...
with a delay button...
waiting for Easter...
the big boy celebration of christianity...

christmas and... the siege of Gaza...
what's the common thread?
human shields... children being:
human shields... excuses excuses ad nauseam...
it's because of the children that we justify
christmas...
i have none so... i don't justify it...
i'll usher in some herr bernstein
in the form of monsieur gauner...
or some... all brothels have a stench of
bourbon about them...
alle bordelle gestank von bourbon!
alle!

and what "good" isn't coincidental
with the advent of spring?
ah... the resurrection "part"...
flight to egypt... josephus ben mathias...
1945... the nag hammadi library...
and... plenty of greco-hebrew politico
propaganda hybrids along the way...

i can hide behind an image
that a word designates...
but... i can also... stand before...
the shadow that the word impregnates...
it just so happens to... rhyme;
bluntly.

i measure snow
by the lightyear --
only a few atoms per cubic
meter.
do you hear the crystals form?

the unfeeling, passionless mist looms
over the door, like over the bin of lamb chops at the grocer's.
an exit with no entrance
a retreat with no paid leave.
why won't you let me in?

i can see so many dying stars
in that compound eye of a cockroach
who hides in the walls, behind
a shield of asbestos, turning
over onto its back, vulnerable.

a thin sheet of ice forms over a puddle.
i dip my foot in and my boot so easily permeates,
intrudes.

There are two ways to fall
in love with the stars.
Each begins with a child on her back,
asphalt and grass,
looking up.

Each begins with a reaching.

There are two ways to fall
in love with the stars. Each begins
with a feeling of light that is cold,
of the glow of afar, of nothing
but the magnetic math
of the vacuum between here

and there.

Each begins with finding
light in dark.

She can at this point grab the tail
of her hope in a telescope,
wonder at the whole mirrored mess,
open her aperture as wide as her heart
and stretch the shutter speed as long
as her patience, let in all the light

she can.

She can mesh her fingers through Orion's,
standing ready to help him catch
the Pleiades that hover above his hand,
she can hold his sword for him
for a while.
She can brush her fingertips along
Andromeda's straining arms, soothe
the chained flesh of her wrists. She
can trace faces in the sky
with her kind touch,
ladle warm soup for every one,
scratch the bears behind their ears
to keep herself coming undone.
She can blush, timid to reach
the extra lightyear that will bring
her hands to Cassiopeia's hair.

Or then she can
calculate the cold,
Orion's sword a pen, fight
through the mechanics
for the dynamics
and get there.

There is no one speaking. Time is a sparkling atom placed perfectly on the pinpoint of pain. I am precisely nowhere. I cannot see, or move. All that I have is me. Whiteness is everywhere. Sometimes I hear voices. They are like distant thunder rumbling, but never coherent. I scream but I don’t think any one hears me.
I am certain that I am not dead; certainly not dead; deadly certain. Sometimes I lose the train I call my thoughts, then a flood of random happenings happen to me. I see bits and pieces of whatever. A brown crumbling leaf crunching under my feet. The green bench with paint chipping off the sides. A short old man with false teeth wearing suspenders, jean shorts, sun glasses, and no shirt who I know is dead. Then it is whiteness again, a blank canvas with no heat or cold.
I can’t walk so I project myself farther and farther into the white infinity. I hear another rumble of thunder. I swear it sounds like wake up. I try to focus on the words. Blurry faces face me. I push past the blur trying to focus. I raise my arm but it never moves, it’s not there.  
Again a thunder voice sounds saying, “Wake up.” The blurs lose their fuzziness. I see a little face. What a sweet little baby face; a little boy stumbling around dragging a pink fuzzy teddy bear that is almost as big as him. Then I see the same little baby with a cute cowboy hat smiling adorably while he tries to take it off; the thin elastic band keeps snapping it back on his head.
I hear myself laughing, at least how I use to sound laughing. The voice thunders again. The little boy is slightly older now. I see the presents under the tree. He opens up the silver suited Buzz Lightyear. He loves it.
We go to the park and I push him on the swings. I take him trick-or-treating. There is a painful sadness in my stomach. At least I think it’s my stomach. I cannot tell where any part of me is. I feel a flush a fresh warm air crossing my essence. I think the warm air is me.  Sadness permeates my being. The sadness tingles like sleeping limbs and stinks of regrets. I wish I could go back to those days.
Am I dying? No I am not dying. Something sharp takes a bite out of me. I see a ******* dog pulling on my pant leg. I feel a sense of panic. He is dragging me one way when I know I have to go another. I’m going to be late but I can’t say what for. I feel the skin on my ankle rip, as he tares through the jeans pulling me to the ground repeatedly.
Wait, I am not wearing any jeans. I try to pinch myself. I try so hard, but I cannot find the skin. I cannot even find the origin of my intention. Again the thunder calls to me. Water is falling fast and cold on my skin, but there is no water.
I can feel my bare feet squishing through a muddy puddle. I run. I play. I laugh. I wonder what is wrong with me. Owe, the white water drop drips of red crimson dots and they slip and slide expanding into long lines. There is a horn, someone plays the trumpet. I feel the pressure of blowing in the trumpet and it hurts the sides of my neck. Man I hated that brass piece of crap. There is a rhythmic pulsing pounding like a drum set. I should have stuck with the drums instead.
I feel dizzy the redness expands further, then comes shades of fuzzy light brown. The thunder sounds again. I know it’s raining I can feel the water trickling down my skin. Someone is touching me. I struggle to pull away. The harder I fight the harder it pulls me.
No, no, no, I scream. There is the sound of a baby crying. I see my brother’s little brown slimy face. It is the first picture I have ever seen of him. He will be home soon. Something jerks me forward. The thunder starts to sound less like thunder and more like a voice.  “Get up.”
“Get up!”
My brother is on the back of my bike as we roll to the store.
“Get up!”
My brother is playing video games at my new apartment.
“Get up!”
My brother is crying.
“Get up!”
My brother is laughing.
“Get up!”
My brother is coming slowly into to focus as a grown man.
“Get up!”
My brother is yelling at me to get up. The blurry edges of reality are slowly coming into to focus. I shake my head, and it hurts. I hear something big rolling this way. A shadow rises filling up the wet road ahead.  A hand pulls me up. I stumble off of the road onto the side and slip into a small ditch
It hurts so much. I check my wrinkled flesh. Yep, I still have all my fingers, and they work. Yep, all those age spots are still there. I see my younger brother, he is saying something. Man he looks old as ****. Now sound is perfectly restored. I hear him clearly for the first time. Are you ok? He says with a toothy old man smile.
I smile back. “I think I lost my teeth.”
Behind me is a horrible mess.  One small car crushed in the front with a semi truck not even five feet away and other vehicles are just breezing on by.

People used to ignore jokes in poor taste
and accepted that pandering had its place
but since then we've had an about-face
and now look to callously race
to moral judgment instead of grace.

The right is more malicious
the left is more annoying
they all sound like *******
with the tactics they're employing
making rhetoric vicious
so discourse starts destroying
both sides' wishes
for positive change
because lobbing grenades
has made us deranged.

The right burns books like Maus
the right burned down the house
the left wants to sterilize society by judging my propriety
and taking away the ***** things that have delighted me
virtue signaling violently
both sides' bile blending
into arguments unending.

They assign an extreme value to minority status:
which is the raddest versus which is the baddest
the nature of these arguments is madness
quibbling over The Little Mermaid's blackness
we need to relax this
nationalistic mindset
not get behind it
while the country is divided.

Now the only reason to cross the aisle
is to call the opponent a *******
so it's been a while since that word has had meaning
other than Facebook feeding nightmare needing
fever dreaming conspiracy reading
fools following the lecherous leading
us into becoming stuck with nothing to discuss
other than manufactured disgust
man have I had enough
of incendiary bluffs amounting to dust
encouraging purchased pistols to bust
for paper saying 'In God We Trust'
while believing political lies
like the accusations that fly
from the internet hive.

The country is Turning Red
because the green m&m
is now sexually dead
and Taylor Swift said
that she felt fat
so we attack
going off track
like when we crucified Cuties
it's an excuse to forsake our duties
anything with ****** and *******
gives us the fire to act rudely.

This is my fear:
******* about Lightyear
will bring years of night here
when the sun never shines on the cause
because people can't ignore or press pause
more important issues can get lost
and we won't count the cost
through frivolous frost.

So what if a movie studio makes a character black?
So what if the NFL's rules are a bit lax?
They're more worried about the estate tax
and we can all agree they ain't that
thing to end the schism
yet we cajole with derision
with puppet strings just out of vision
moving to industry's rhythm
away from personal wisdom
into the day-to-day we stay
concentrating on collisions.