If you want to call me vegan,
I'll not fight with you,
although the statement's not quite true
It's not exactly wrong either

It's true I don't eat meat, or eggs, or anything with wings or legs,
but in way of a confession, you might find in my possession
a leather belt or shoes,
which for a vegan is bad news

I don't really mean to quibble, concerning what I nibble,
but I'm trying here to say in this convoluted way
that for a vegan it's all about the animals
I'm not in it for the animals, but rather for my health and for the planet

I surely won't deny it -- I eat a vegan diet,
and to some degree I care what fellow creatures have to bear,
and resulting from my wishin' for optimal nutrition
they benefit from my selfish choice to not consume them

But in the end you have to see that I eat this way for me
I don't deserve the noble label, but when I'm sitting at your table,
if you want to call me vegan,
then I'll not disagree.

Soft curdled interior now at its eutectic
Holds a bifurcated square of gluten
Equally carbonized together
In an **** of ill-advised but sensual nutrition

I'm learning to lay awake
with myself,
Peaceful and warm I
can be with me,
Caring for myself like I do my chilli plant,
Testing my own leaves for lack of nutrition,
Or love,
Cheap, clean sheets beneath my hands and calves
Light the wick.
Colin Meloy's liquid voice falls
like hail,
Excitable under my skin.
So as I watch the light move across white ceilings I can clear
and muse
and breathe.

Tentacles grasping for nutrition
Soaking in everything around you.
Filled with visceral emotion overload
Angered by the world's injustices
You must then express yourself in ink

To empty.

Sinking like a carelessly cosmic ****** on the 4th of J-U-L-Y, while a distressed young mountain lion lies on your feet.

Watch out for the cautious rubber shark inside the lines. It'd be something like Frank Zappa stuck on a deserted island with a dealer of his liking or disdain. 

I believe in outlandish crazy industrialists in the distance between here and nowhere. 

Lucifer has been infused with witchcraft and crack *******. Mindless *******. Thank your God. 

Excellent nutrition is being presented as gluttony. Which in turn has caused your little sister to make daily offerings to a porcelain god. 

Pleasure didn't invent rebellion but rebellion did however invent pleasure. Don't confuse the two. 

A believer is magnetically drawn to immorality, much like man is to faith. 

Inspiration simply radiates free energy and a smile should never be compared to a frown. 

Dreaming can be mistaken for productivity. Dream big people, dream big.

This planet orbits a yellow sun like ours.
It is in the Optimum Zone to support life.
Sure enough it has a wide variety of flora and fauna.
Highly intelligent life has evolved in its seas and oceans.
Its continents, however, are dominated by a species of primates.

Over the past 300 of the planet’s years they have developed
Some fairly high technology.
But they remain carnivores
Who regularly commit genocide.
They cut down swathes of natural forest
To grow chemically protected
Genetically modified nutrition-sources.
And they mine their planet empty
Of its mineral riches.
The planet’s ecosystem is being rapidly destroyed
By them.

Socially and psychologically they remain primitive.
Yet they possess the means to blow their world
To pieces.

With heavy heart I have to advise
We sign this planet
“No Entry”
For the foreseeable future.
“Forbidden” indeed.
A planet we call MW Orion 8478-3
That its natives call
That ever so common name:
“Earth”.

Paul Butters

There was once a hungry lonely lion
Who hadn’t any friends
It never stopped him from trying
But it was too late to make amends

He had eaten Mr. Zebra for dinner
And Sir Buffalo for the crunch
The animals thought him a sinner
When he ate Mrs. Kangaroo up for lunch

He didn’t get invited to Giraffe’s party
It quickly created a void
He heard it was chill and hearty
And they played a lot of Pink Floyd

The lonely lion sighed
His carnivorous desires left him bleak
As much as he really tried
New friends were impossible to seek

One fine day he was struck
By a lightning of epiphany
This idea could very well bring him luck
And end his spell of infamy

While on the toilet seat
He browsed through a magazine page
A new diet with no meat
Seemed to suddenly be all the rage

He grabbed a bowl of grass
And ignored his craving for gazelle
He’d decided to be a lion with class
As he excitedly snacked on lightly salted pretzels

For breakfast he had a juice
And Mrs. Parrot noticed it was kale
Soon the lonely lion declared a truce
And Mrs. Parrot squawked of his vegan tale

For lunch the lion ate cauliflower
And the animals gasped in shock
“Come animals, witness my vegan power!”
Roared the lion as he chewed on a grassy stalk

Soon the animals welcomed the lion
Except Mrs. Owl who was wise
There’s something about him I'm not buyin’
I just can’t seem to believe all his lies

When there was finally peace in the forest
The lion threw a grand feast
He called the best chefs and the florists
To give his new friends a treat

The spread was mighty splendid
All the dishes were vegan and gluten-free
And when the dinner had ended
The animals sipped on piping hot tea

“You’re generous and astounding!
Our herbivore brother and kind beast
This transformation has been confounding
But thank you for the wonderful feast!”  

The lion was now glowing with pride
In the animal kingdom he was admired
But something rumbled from deep inside
Something in just the way he was wired

His hunger which he ignored
Came bursting through the seams
The satisfied lion now got bored
With his desperate vegan diet dreams

He pounced on Mr. Rabbit
And gobbled him up pretty fast
Blame it on the bad habit
But his vegan diet did not last

He ate Mr. Deer and Mr. Moose
Yet his tummy growled for some more
He ate Mr. Hare and Mrs. Goose
Until nobody was left on the forest floor

The owl watched completely flustered
as her friends were brutally killed
Mr fox and his wife covered in mustard
gobbled by the lion who was weak willed

I apologize for my condition
My weakness is delicious meat
I need to tend to my nutrition
And thus I must simply eat

I truly am sorry said the lion Stud
As the night grew silently grim
But the chances of us being real buds
Are unfortunately pretty slim

Shape and structure coming together
Body composition like no other
A date in pushing heavy weights
But as a Bodybuilder how each muscle relate
Fitness and Bodybuilding all require all the nutrition that you take in
It’s the energy to help you begin and strength in continual at the end
Fitness and Bodybuilding is about body shape and construct
But careful concentration that you don’t run a mock
However, Bodybuilding being more intense with precise body buildup principles
It’s not a simple process
It’s focus with a mission
The battle with weights for condition

The whole point is strictly exercise
The new image from training in thinking wise
A Gym being the place to create the new you
The results in the mirror for you to look through
The Personal Trainer guiding you every step of the way
Proven assessments that will be ok
Fitness and Bodybuilding coming together as two separate sports
Intensity at one end and shape contouring at the other
“Exercise is to look a certain way, tomorrow your after will be another day”.

I saw you in Tim Hortons for the first time in three years.
You told me I had grown and
I congratulated on you on your weight loss.


She is my best friend.
You didn't raise a child,
You raised an ironwork frame.
You threw a girl into reality before she could even spell the word.

And I would love to look at the other side, but I can't—
it always loops back around like that little girl
doing circles around on her ten-speed as she pulls up
to the convenience store to buy you cigarettes.

Hey, at least you called her an ambulance—
On Thanksgiving Day when she passed out
from lack of nutrition because you spent your last welfare check
on something I don't even want to hear your excuse for.

I remember my mother, coming into my room at eleven pm on a Wednesday, telling me to put some shoes on because you snapped a pool cue and placed it to a guy's neck.

My pajama pants ripped as I broke into your apartment to wake my best friend up and tell her that my mom was parked outside and she had to spend the night at my house.

You spent the night in the drunk tank hitting on officers.
She spent the night beside me crying and asking for any other mother but you.

We were in grade 6.

When she was 13, she had to live with me for 3 months because social services deemed you, "unstable."
When she was 14, she moved away to the city because she couldn't handle you anymore.

I went to visit her last weekend and she didn't say a single word about you.

My body wishes for nutrition,
but it does not know the meaning of frugality.
Only my mind knows the meaning, and keeps my body at bay.
My body will say,
"Feed me, feed me, feed me!",
but my mind's rejection will not falter,
for the Happiness of my love
makes the means to receive it without err.

Shot a rabbit two days ago, it was a good shot taken at distance from height. The rabbit died instantly, it had been digging holes in my lawns, it had to go.

I watched it die and I had cause to ponder the death from a religious angle, where believers say we go to another place when we die?

I know where this rabbit went, he went into my vegetable garden, buried deep with all the other varmints and critters that have crossed my path.

Over the years we, (my wife and I), have turned that patch of barren volcanic ash into a wondrous source of lettuce, potatoes, onions, rhubarb, tomatoes and leek..by adding the carbonaceous remnants of not only these creatures but of composted vegetation, seaweed and selected fertilizers. We also grow the most beautiful roses and deliahs and crysanthemums you will ever come across.

And do you know...in the dark of night other little rabbits and bugs and things come out and nibble those very creations...unaware that they are completing the circle of being.

This is the true spirit of creation, as I see it, where deep in the garden, the motes of nutrition transmogrify beneficially from one entity to another, eventually, for the common good of all.

This is the basis of my belief. Feet on the ground...
What is....most definately is!

M.
Taranaki NZ

We live in a world that's so cold
Where its more important to savour the flavour
Than stop life ending up on a fork and knife.

We do good deeds and preach our teachings to the younger future walkers of the earth.
We teach them what's right and what's wrong and get them to listen to our favourite song.

But life isn't important, no cpr classes in school no teachings of being an ***** donar.
We carry on teaching useless, pointless information.
We waste time and effort teaching religion when we don't even know who they will grow up to be.

We tell children to be nice to animals around the dinner table. Carving up what used to live and love now covered  in Gravy beyond recognition of how it once was part of its own family.

Every year our biggest celebration Christmas where we celebrate the birth of jesus or just friendly old santa bringing us gifts. Picking out the biggest turkey to be stuffed glazed and cooked. Poor animal killed to celebrate life or joy.

It ****'s being on the food chain. You're either above or below an other fellow earthling. Why not break the chain and be you. Not above me, not above a fish that swims faster than you. Not above a lion stronger than you. Not about the farm animals sitting at the bottom waiting to be bled and made into shrink wrapped food.

You take the nutrition from the animal that's spent its whole life collecting from plants. Why is the cow the middle man in this earth crime.

We have consciousness now we know what's right and wrong so why **** for the thrill of flavor. So sad we don't break this habit and mean it when we say to our children. Don't be mean to animals..

What is it that you're thinking
tell me what you
ponder
while you watch me
doubled over.
As you watch me doubled over
heaving
bile
and spit
and breakfasts meal.
Does it disgust you when I choke
and cough
eject
half digested
----not even fully digested----
nutrition from my
acid scarred throat?
Or do you just stand there
feeling nothing.

"23: July 24"
"24: October 5"
"25: February 19"
"26: December 14"
  
The words went right to the pit of my stomach.
All doubt was gone.
I'd graduate/be drafted in June.
By September
I'd be in Vietnam.
  
My high school gym teacher had been an Army sergeant.
He stepped on our stomachs as we did sit-ups,
"toughening us up".
I've had a problem with authority
(unsuited, temperamentally,
to obeying unconditionally).
I'd be a poor soldier in the best of wars.
  
But if a job required some independence/ingenuity --
a pilot or a spy, say --
and if the cause was right
(World War II, for instance),
I could fight as well as another guy.
  
I don't like fighting,
but I'm not so naive as to think it's never a necessity.
There's always someone who, given the chance,
will take our possessions and make us their slaves.
So who should decide
if a particular war is justified?
This seemed to be my own responsibility.
  
Vietnam? I decided it wasn't.
Weren't we protecting a democracy?
No. Thieu lacked popular support.
Wouldn't Thailand and India fall?
No. The domino theory was questionable at best.
Weren't our national interests at stake?
No, not really.
I'd decided I shouldn't fight;
They'd decided to make me fight.

The physical was set for March.
Unless I failed,
I'd go to Vietnam,
go to jail for seven years,
or go to Canada for the rest of my life.
  
In studying Army regulations,
I found a fascinating chart.
It showed for each particular height
the greatest and the smallest weight
the Army would accept.
I'd heard of people who'd gotten out
by injuring themselves intentionally.
Some exaggerated a minor back pain.
Others faked insanity.
Losing weight seemed nobler;
lying/mutilation, not required.
  
The low for me was 118;
lose twenty pounds and I'd be out.
(At 5'10", that's pretty thin.
Could I do it and not get sick?)
My parents thought for sure I'd die.
  
Help from doctors was out of the question;
on my own I studied nutrition.
Cut down on calories,
maintain needed nutrients
(protein, essential fats, vitamins, and minerals).
Once I found a working combination,
I stuck to it without exception.
Cottage cheese, wheat germ, and fish were staples.
Bored fat cells chose self-immolation.
My weight dropped to one hundred and twenty.

In cases where the weight was close
I'd heard the Army sometimes winked:
("Oh we'll fatten this guy up").
I decided to lose to one hundred and ten.
  
Contrary to my parents' fears --
though vigorous exercise made me dizzy --
I really wasn't sick at all.

The Army sent a special bus
to take us to the physical.
Once there, we stripped to underpants,
moved like cattle from each room to the next.
I weighed 110.
They classified me 1-Y
(examine again in a year;
if still unfit, reject).
Losing again would be inconvenient,
but free of worry since I knew that it worked.
  
I'd brought some food.
I drank and ate it ravenously.
  
So what did I feel on that bus heading home?
Triumph? Elation? No.
Relief, sadness, and guilt.
Relief because finally I was free of this mess.
Sadness and guilt because someone else
would be made to go and fight in my place.
It's true this person, on some level,
had chosen not to escape --
but maybe he just hadn't thought it through. . . .
  
Now for a bold statement from a slimy ex-draft-dodger --
I'm sure you'll think this hypocritical -- :
Each of us must be ready to serve.
Responsibility for protecting things we love
can not lie solely with the professional military.
(Future wars could overwhelm them.)
  
Service isn't always guns.
Service might be joining the Peace Corps
or electing leaders who effectively distinguish
false threats from real ones -- and pre-empt war.
  
Wars should be rare, ****** upon us.
No more propping up tottering dictators.
No more shoving "Democracy" down people's throats.
No more sacrificing 10,000 soldiers so we can pay a
      quarter less for gasoline.
  
Wars should be necessary and just;
everyone should serve.

It’s a contest in Fitness talent that one has
But it is a competition to see if the competitor has pizzazz
It’s a matter in showing your body shape off
Being determined and destined of course
As part of the fitness competition, one must dance
It’s a matter in putting the audience into a trance
But it’s the scoring in how you advance
The razzle and dazzle being in the spotlight
It’s about showmanship in becoming a champion
Perfection being great
How your diet and exercise come together in relate
But one must pay critical attention and watch carefully what you eat
This is competition of shape in how you will compete
Having the right routine being the regime
Nutrition being nice and clean
Not cheating, but having a theme
Exercise and tone all combined
But in the winning circle, you can’t drink any wine
It’s about becoming Mr. and Ms. Everything Fitness
The audience is there to take it all in and witness
One must have the right positive approach
There can be humor and jokes
But it’s a combination of exercise, shape, commitment, dedication and smile
This is the competition during while
One who is caught in the Fitness Sting
However, it is fitness being entertainment having the right swing.

Barbells and principles
Intensity through determination
Shape leading to conditioning
Veins with the muscle peak
Creating just the right physique
I have long to have muscles
No relation to seafood mussels
However, its nutrition with a name
Looking for results being the aim
I want a reflection that is my own body composition
The idea is to be solid and strong
Feeling muscular in where I belong
A dynamite me
For all to see
My dreaming mind
I am visualizing with all combined
Muscles are just fine
It takes years of perfection and that means time.

Love on my toes, love in the cabinet, love jumps off balconies
it is an eighteen year old succubus offering spinal taps.
Bring the gentlemen their evening numbness before next
morning’s nightmare and ******* are scheduled on God’s map –
he just steps out for a moment, settles his sleeping mask on.

God is so unhappy: he understands nothing of love.
Get this recipe recited so we shall feed them pink and blue pills
which knobs can sting boys in the ***, a fleabite or bow
soon our leather heels chime through their ears like hooves.

The master may question their nutrition so hold out a paper cup
sloshing in female nectar, our vaguely cerise saliva
sustenance that comes from between slits carved for such –
these acids are love, love, love. Love from cavities, love pearls
knotted in the roots of a mother clam, fallopian love tubes.

Every shoebox offers warmth, complementary wakeup calls
a petite blonde to peel him out of his pajamas, too –
lay your husbands down into the doll-case if he has no love
as God is not watching here. Oh, how happy our gentlemen are.

what happened to you?

i keep asking myself everyday


once, you were my sunshine.
your warmth enveloped me. your smile
was alive.

i don't see sun anymore.

gray clouds. thunderstorms lurking




i have tried everything.
to bring that light back.
i provided nutrition
i spoke with hopeful words
and i held my palms toward you


you ran away.
with the sun in your hands.



what have i done?
where is my sunshine?


you have hid it, far away.
i can never find it again.
now, you merely radiate cold.

i shiver.






where is my sunshine?

A decade of trains that lost track
have just turned up in my esophagus,
they are all bile as I am all hands.

This is why I was never frightened by ghosts
and sea specters:

they have been inside of me
the whole time.  

Sometimes, hot coal would hit my cuticles,
I could see the steam.
I could feel something like wheels
spinning a web on my nail-beds;
something sat in me like I were a flowerpot.

All that remained were the sticks
of my skin, blood bubbling from below.

But they have been there
the whole time.
I have been a ship in a bottle,
I have been a conductor without knowing.

Fever outlined my spine with its fingers
and I felt I was being kicked by
a fetus.

I was a hallway for phantoms
that believed they still have their limbs
and if not, quills
or a fish with gills and a fin
or locomotive. Mechanical movement still.

How could I not realize
they were inside of me the whole time,

soaking up the nutrition from my throat
shifting the razor while I shave?
Thousands of train-ghosts
crawled from me by an engine of *****.

Not one knows where they are.

The words across my heart
said "fragile, handle with care"
So then tell me why you
handled me the way you did

because now that fragility
is shattered

I wanted to start off my speech  with a little poem.
When this poem is over, I want to know if any of you recognize the author.

“On top of a hill, there’s a rose.
This rose get’s sunlight and nutrition from the soil beneath it
Never before has the rose been asked to do a task suitable for garden
When asked today if the rose can grow the grass around it
The rose stood still
Little red rose, I can tell your stem is nervous
The wind is whipping you like a baker and his cream
Put the nerves behind you and begin to water your fellows
Success is only a day away
Tonight the rose watered the garden.”

You probably don’t recognize the author because the author is me.
In August 2010, the beginning of my sophomore year, I picked up poetry.
I kept it to myself.
Most of my friends thought it was lame or stupid to be writing.
Mostly because I’m a guy. They were all interested in cars, sports, parties, you name it.
Where on the other hand, I stood in my living room with music as loud as I can get it, and a pen in my hand.
I didn’t write sad things. Mostly I wrote inspirational pieces.
However, it was to make up for the feelings that I had.
See, I had tricked myself into believing that I wasn’t going anywhere.
I’d given up on myself.
Everyone around me completely believed in me and wanted to see me do something great.
By November, I had gotten into writing to a point where I liked it. I wanted to show someone.
So I showed a few of my writings to my english teacher.
She was awestruck that I had that kind of writing capabilities, and suggested I looked into Slam Poetry, or competitive performance.
I was terrified.
I was 15 going on 16, with no self confidence to speak of.
How was I going to do that?
I wasn’t. There was no way you were going to find me risking what little bit about myself that I liked to be judged by total strangers.


That’s when a few weeks later, there this a gathering in the auditorium.
I walked in and sat down next to a few of my friends to see what was going on.

It was
incredible.
A few poets from Portland had come to our school to perform.
Everything I had been told about performance was right in front of me.
Something, and to this day I don’t know what it was, took control of me.
I marched over to one of the poets on the side of the auditorium, and asked if I could be put on the list of kids who were going to be able to perform.
I waited. My stomach was in knots. I was probably about to throw up
Then I heard it.
My name.
My legs walked up.
I vomited my words sloppily in-front of people.
It was terrible.
But the feeling of doing it....
I was hooked.

I kept writing.
I was told that there was a competition in portland to be put on the first youth slam poetry team to represent maine, ever.
There were five spots
I wanted one.
I practiced in front of my mirror
Memorization and editing was my life after school for about three months.
Until it was time.
The day came that I was suppose to put it all out there.
Three poems.
Three rounds.
Five judges.
One outcome.
I vomited my words all over the audience.
I hated all three of my performances.
Until I heard my scores.
They were almost all tens.
I came in second.
I was on the team.

I’ve performed in other competitions since then, against other poets in their mid thirties who have been writing for years
And beaten them.
I’ve been told my traveling artists that if anyone on the team was to go anywhere, that it’d be me.
By then, I’d only been writing for about a year.
Some kid who liked nothing about himself, from a no name town in Maine,
getting praise from poets who have seen the world and gotten their names put in books for centuries.
I’ve been published.
Twice.
Possibly even putting out my own small book of work, soon.
I never thought it’d get to this level.
I worked and worked and worked until I hated every single poem.
Then I taught myself to love them again.
I kept performing and building my confidence.
I wouldn’t be who I am now without it.
I even took the confidence that I have gained and used it to do something I never thought I’d be able to do.
I joined the National Guard.
I had talked about it since I was a kid, but never had the mindset that I’d actually do it.
But here I am. I’m going to be a medic for the National Guard.
Never had I ever thought of doing something like that.
And I am.

My message to you is that every single one of you have a goal.
Some of you might want to be lawyers, doctors, mechanics, business owners, or even poets.
Do it.
Don’t let anything stop you.
We’ve just met, and I already know you can do it.
But it won’t be handed to you.
You’re going to have to work for it.
I’m living proof, standing in front of you that goals can be accomplished.
I’ll even give you a little hint.
Something that someone I met a few years ago taught me.
False confidence is still confidence.
You just need to do one thing that will terrify you
Risk it all. Put it all on the table for everyone to see.
You’ll be surprised how many people will look up to you for it.
Your dreams are out there
Waiting for you
Before you go to bed tonight
Think about what you can do tomorrow
To make them happen
Thank you

What I managed to regrow,

You stomped on.

You waltzed into my garden

Like you had grown the whole place yourself,

Your nose in the air.

You looked at my carrots and scoffed,

My cucumbers you mocked

And you thought my garden gnomes were ******.



And I let you,

Because you acted like you knew so much about gardening

You said the caterpillars would help my leaves

And the crows would **** out my rotten veggies

But those cruel birds have just been eating away at my prize-winning squash,

and the tomato worms....well, they ate all my ripe tomatoes.



You said  you'd help me tend to my garden

But you rarely make it over

And when you do, you throw a shovel in my face

And tell me to get on my knees.

You watch while I ****

And talk about the grandeur of the flowers next door.

And I wonder as I wipe my brow,

What I ever thought I needed you for?

And why you ever came over in the first place,

Since you obviously prefer pretty colors to nutrition

And you must have had some notion that I would one day realize,

That you've never kept anything alive in your life,

And you don't even have a yard.

There is a consumer product demon
in the trash underneath my sink.

The other day, I tossed in a wrapper
from a Quest 20-protein-gram nutrition bar
and a hand reached up to grab it.

Thinking I was daydreaming
I pulled out the white plastic Rubbermaid trash basket;
no hand, but the ¼ cup of Kraft Fast Mac
tossed in yesterday was moving, undulating.

It made a distinct voice-y sound
like “You’ll like Mac-a-lot, so eat me!”
Thinking this was just my overactive poetic imagination
I turned to the sink.

My JetZScrubber had wrapped around a spoon
dancing in circles around the In-Sink-Erator drain
while the Ajax Easy-Hands Dishwashing Liquid spewed bubbles
in unison.

Now convinced I took too much acid in college
I ran upstairs where my dog Mr. Brown sleeps
on his 44” x 36” leopard-print GoodDogBed.
“Howdy, partner,” Brown chimed.
“Sure is a fine day to go for a walk
using that Halti multi-loop leader and Sprenger prong collar.
Yes, I love ‘em.”

I took Mr. Brown to the dog park.
the one with the Safe-Steel chain link fence
and the pine trees without labels.
He pooped in the sawdust and vocalized
in his hound voice.
I could have sworn he said,
“Glad I didn’t do that on the L.L.Bean Woven Nylon Area Rug,”
but I wasn’t sure.

Nothing moved
except the wind in the trees.
and I wondered what to call it.

1.**

A horizontal fall
from the high-up slide
made for big kids was not
what I expected as I screamed
“Push me down, Haley!”

Unexpected, too, was the destruction of your wounded butterfly days later–
revenge is sweet, yet unsatisfying.
And then you left for six years,
turning up again as hormones
were in full swing
in our freshman year of high school.

2.

you said



"i'll teach you to love,

just draw nearer to me.

draw nearer to me

and i'll make you mine."



as you



laced up your best heels

put on your best face

and applied another coat

of liquid vanity.



as i


made an effort to


concoct a new way to say

"no"


and


ignore the 
rotting

carcasses of

hearts

that strewed the floor.


i'd seen your kind before


"but losing you would be a chore

my darling detritivore"



i said

3.

focus of a new kind sheds a big difference BIG DIFFERENCE upon your face bright yet shadows consume both it and your body like a prophecy. since when did that happen? so what if it never did? so you came to your senses; perhaps that was it. perhaps the realization of “you sure do know how to pick ‘em” broke you and now you’re left with a twelve-and-one-half-inch phallus in your big box of board games. we hardly speak anymore. i am now your temptress, detritivore and you’ll never escape never escape the howls of agony and desire releasing themselves from your joints your muscles your heart aches for fresh meat and you get it, **** you. you get it daily for viewing pleasure. dear heavens speak of shabby apartments and televisions that don’t work. they never knew how to comfort me; so why should they now? falling down the stairs into the pitch black night irreversible womb child conceived on camera and carried to term on God’s watch. do you remember pushing me down that slide in the second grade? it’s your turn.

4.

Unexpected, too, was the destruction of my wounded memory
of an innocent girl from second grade
now in chains and leather,
used and watched and seen and lusted over and masturbated over,
but for a hefty sum.

And I still see second grade Haley
and we still talk
and we share the occasional cigarette
and we tell of our conquests.
But I am no savior–

5.

Feeling vibrations in my palm is finding decaying matter on the forest floor to eat–
the words they carry are a substitute for nutrition.
The nearest bounty of corn is a thousand miles away,
for God places us here and our placement is the source of life’s cruelty.
And second-grade Victor would happily take a beating
for gas money; desperate detritivore–
feast on decaying matter, get your fill
and one day substance of corn will fill your stomach
and you will hibernate indefinitely.

hope
she said is
the thing with feathers
perched and singing
without words..

words must surely
be deeply hidden
within that song..
can we locate
another perch..?

and ask the feather
what are your words
and your song..?
the words we find
it's shape does bind..

here are the
sharp connectors and barbs..
barbules and hooklets
all of these
to hold a feather form..

and what of a song..?
a central shaft with ending quill
guides nutrition and light..
sacred texts penned
and that majestic flight..

hope extends...

(with appreciation for
Emily Dickinson's
poem)

872

As the Starved Maelstrom laps the Navies
As the Vulture teased
Forces the Broods in lonely Valleys
As the Tiger eased

By but a Crumb of Blood, fasts Scarlet
Till he meet a Man
Dainty adorned with Veins and Tissues
And partakes—his Tongue

Cooled by the Morsel for a moment
Grows a fiercer thing
Till he esteem his Dates and Cocoa
A Nutrition mean

I, of a finer Famine
Deem my Supper dry
For but a Berry of Domingo
And a Torrid Eye.

"Don't forget,
We're in the business
Of giving debt,
Not forgiveness,
So hurry up
And get to
Paying us back
With interest,
Get fat from
Processed snacks
And a lack
Of fitness,
Get trapped in
Our system of
Inflicted sickness."

Fast food passes
For sustenance
When nutrition's offered
Based on status,
And corporate
Influence
Decides who to
Feed in
Massive batches.
Every time
A fascist
Plan hatches
A new law passes,
The steadfast
Campaign
To make our
Brains cabbage,
Our bodies
Ravaged,
Our spirits
Shattered,
A nation
So savage
And battered
We no longer
Care that
A handful
Of vultures
Are driving
The carriage.

Don't be a fool,
These puppets
Don't care
About guns
Or gay marriage,
It's just a show,
A transparent
Distraction
In the form
Debate between
Imaginary factions.

Money rules the world,
It's not just a saying
That it makes
This **** twirl,
It spins us around
And inspires
The slaying
Of entire towns,
It leads these liars
In the game
They are playing,
Telling us up
Is really down.
Well if down is
The new up
I guess I
Should stop
Laying in dirt,
And get myself
A job
Making other
People hurt,
And make a ton
Of money
And pretend
I have worth.

Catch you on the
Flipside,
From the flipside.

There’s a favorite culinary dish in town;
it’s known as the synapse shish kebab.
It’s high in protein as well as fat, and it comes
with a garlic-infused broccoli rabe,
available with a choice of couscous or rice.
The palate will most likely be enticed, just like
another common John who swears to us that he
again has done absolutely nothing wrong.
It pairs nicely with an eighties chenin blanc,
gray matter that’s grilled to sheer perfection,
smoked all day, and is guaranteed satisfaction,
seemingly like an old, rambling rolling stone.
The lights are on—but nobody’s buying homes.
An opera singer that is deaf to certain tones,
this is definitely not regal crumpets and tea—
“heart-healthy nutrition,” all our medics agree.
There’s a new critically acclaimed dish around;
it’s the slow-roasted synapse shish kebab,
moderately priced, and portions are family style—
passed-down secret recipes from west of the Nile,
and also numbers that won’t make your wallet sob
like a big, bad, dark, overly loaded cloud.
Give it a try, and then shout it out loud:
synapse shish kebab!

the zombie has opinions about nutrition
but lives off of tasty urban debris

the zombie is standing on the beach
whipped by grey
watching the waves roll in high

the zombie is on the computer again--
where nobody knows he's a zombie

the zombie seems to be listening but is looking at his phone

the zombie is not a joiner, so don't be uncool and ask
though he might join and then drop out, which just proves
joining was pointless in the first place

oh definitely the zombie likes to go down

the zombie bites the hand that feeds him

the zombie does not mind poison if it means saving money

the zombie is against bad things.

the zombie is not a sheep.

the zombie is dying of loneliness but can't ever seem to connect.

the zombie is spreading deserts
and drowning deltas.

the zombie is standing up for what's right, on facebook.

the zombie knows that *** is safer than alcohol
and it makes him safer

the zombie feels guilty sometimes but ultimately
not personally responsible.

the zombie is tired--not enough sleep, not enough brains.

the zombie doesn't need you,
he just wants you,
when he sees you.

ahem: the zombie wants you for your mind.

the zombie is free.

the zombie embodies Csikszentmihalyi's state of "Flow."

the zombie may have made you one of his kind,

you will never know because
zombies don't know they're
zombies.