"logistically" poems
the planets will align
every once in awhile
to arraign all who need
or are deserving of it
those who find themselves
treading the wrong path
those who can no longer
see what lies ahead
despite all those
gazing upwards
silently questioning
these immaterial messages
will be overlooked
unheeded by the majority
only recognised by the few
comprehended by even fewer
this singular occurrence
rare and rarefied
may be explainable
in its most basic sense
logistically
empirically
to even the layman
it is but a simple matter
of timings and orbits
calculations of gravity
versus mass and inertia
but that which truly matters
the universal push and pull
will leave even
the most discerning of minds
in the dark
Oct 31, 2023
Oct 31, 2023 at 3:25 PM UTC
you gave me a necklace
made out of insults.
i didn't give it back to you
because you didn't even
see the glint that ran across
my eye.
it moved so quickly,
like numbers in the sky and
all i can really remember is we
both had coffee breath.
you said we were so similar,
logistically,
but i have yet to figure
the formula.
i wish i had a calculator for that,
but i'm only strong with words
and structures that build us up
on midnight talks and the fact
that we all struggle.
i'm struggling to read you
because you aren't in the news
or fictional in my summer novels,
and that means we are by no means
dreaming under the hard moon
that always seems smaller from
where i stand.
i am beaten by reality and
i feel so little because i once
thought i could be so
invincible to you.
we used to play games in the
car, even though it was to
neglect the thoughts
that fueled the shoe to
pressed down a little heavier.
i knew i had to,
so we could reach the only
destination that we could
taste in each other -
we wanted the lungs of a jellyfish,
(even if they don't have lungs or gills)
the control over the weather systems,
to touch the northern lights
like it was ours to keep.
we wanted things to be fair,
the voice of billie holiday,
some luck to launch our bodies
into sweet, sweet peace.
we only wanted to see something
beyond the borders of what we
have discovered so far.
we only wanted so much more.
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 11:33 AM UTC
Do you like this painting by Friedrich?
YES or NO,
A binary one or zero answer please,
true or false.
I like recognized neural solutions
posed to logistically regressed ideas.
Do you like the color
BLUE or YELLOW?
YES, I did like GREEN,
so slender and bright
faced in her youth.
We were adolescents with too many connections
And maybe not enough pruning.
Or maybe we were just mixed and mash-up,
media saturated?
What do you think?
Did you lust for GREEN too?
YES or NO, true or false.
And now, are we adults or autistic kids?
We withdraw, refuse to recognize faces,
limit human touch because it's all
too overwhelming-- reduced to visual cats,
difficult to herd by old Hands
and cooperative Rules.
We wanderer above the Cloud
seeing answers from a Fog of Random data.
Old world romantics, Greenhorns
in the brave new world of hard logic
and emotional detachment.
If we randomly assign
BLUE = false, YELLOW = true, and GREEN = lust;
logic tells us false AND true must equal false.
A novel recognition that sometimes when
BLUE mixes with YELLOW, we are again BLUE!
By sheer force of color faith
and romantic human sensibility,
we mix falsehood with truth
to arrive at what we desire.
In our blue hearts, and yellow skin
we still green after romance.
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
a man and a woman, as younger couples do, moved in next door. my wife lifted her wine glass and mocked a telescope. I noted how the man seemed to have his **** together. wife noted that the woman seemed masculine. things got complicated very quickly. the man and I became brothers and that somehow led to a promise of equal murder. our wives tilted the scales a bit and agreed to switch husbands. logistically, staying in this house makes the most sense. we unpack a box here and there, reflect on the wrongness of this bauble, that book. our sadness? protected by the dog with a weird name for a dog.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
icy breath sends neck hairs
to attention
frozen bleakness takes the shape of
crystalized dew
speckling the wall
twenty feet high solid concrete
concertina wire decorations
‘tis the season –
holiday bliss as reminiscent prisoners
wax nostalgic
and shift sad eyes when discussing
dry turkey
with beaten and battered cranberries
logistically, the state could not afford
all the trimmings for 3000
so donated feast materials
get the highest of praise –
raising toasts
to over-bearing guards
as the time of year
transcends fear and mere hatred
together they spend another Christmas
inmates and officer
blessed in an un-holy union –
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
Love is every emotion out there.
It's jealous, proud, selfish.
It's kind, friendly, and forgiving.
Or unforgiving.
It's obsession
And neediness
And it's also being okay with
Loving them from a distance.
Love...it makes us fools.
Makes us do crazy things
That doesn't logistically
Benefit anyone.
It is the most confusing thing ever,
But once it hits you,
You know it is love.
And people can try to tell you differently.
That it isn't love, it needs
More respect, more kindness,
Or more desperation.
But the truth is, nobody knows
What love is.
It's just...something about them.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
Seasons fall short as she celebrates wine and rejoices in its carnage.
Logistically speaking, we were miles away from Tripoli,
Somewhere near the edge of the desert when the barstools began to sink and the drugs began to take hold.
Amongst the indecent, Intolerant citizens of three,
Your name rings silent but Bustrophedonically.
TaXXXed like the Phoenicians, I meandered aimlessly,
True to form halted norm of reality.
Prelude thee of nomenclature and I without sin
“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the ******* towers of Ilium?”
Dreamersofsocietyinterjectthemishapenmoldofbeaucracysimoultaneouslypivotingbetweentwelveshotsandahippopotomauscarnivoresubstituteofdissarayabbrasionsstillgatheringdustamongthecravassesofmodernenlightenmenthowaboutabreakshesaidreluctanttospeakinebriatedanddisproportiantelypunctuatedwithatleastaverbalaltercationservingseveralthievesmishapenguidanceabrubtlysweepscreatingovalpatternsperplexedbypretensciousmonolopy
_TRF
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
Oh dear, say it ain't so
I have tumbled once more into the Ensorcel rabbit hole.
Such beguiling charisma and perplexing dexterity wound up inside the man seated next to me.
Perhaps he has broad branching toes like a stoic Tarzan type, nesting in foliage and kissing the stars goodnight.
Or maybe, just maybe he's a beatnik poetic pulsating with the rhythm the earth has bestowed in him.
His finely aligned scruff and quaintly poised glasses may suggest his love for musical classics.
Oh treacherous day, what ever shall I do?
This man of such illusive origins glazed in nectarous morning dew.
Logistically you could precipitate more interaction to decode the cryptic fabric fostering this bizarre attraction.
But...
Enshrining and alienating yourself from said object is the best way to circumvent its truthful product.
He is feverishly contaminated by the condition of human, fettered by the society's rubble and ruins.
Ah, no matter I say. I can jowl upon my pumpkin pie and wistfully ostracize the pestilence shreds of reality away.
Anyhow, I do much prefer the aggrandized lofty plot of land transcended from our fickle mortal hackneyed plans.
A throne of land so void of reality my fabricated man could lie beside me in all his Tarzan beatnik classical music glory.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC