"shitheads" poems
by Arcassin Burnham
flowing like the earths motion when i take a puff,
blowing out some the gunga,
could you help me up,
ambient as all things,
when its dark and quiet,
hand structures and wedding rings,
your mind is not alined,
too many ********* in this world,
suppertime,
if you find the time to pick up the pieces,
it will be fine,
hopefully,
let yourself be the host of your own enemy,
of get therapy to comfort you,
havent been right since elementary,
hoping they all turn against you,
and look!!! there it goes!!,
cant remember the first time i ate a mango.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 10:55 PM UTC
Marines call to say hello,
impress. I'm over 35 but my boys
19. They could go: Hide!
One moment spent tying a shoe,
another dying, gunshot wound or poisoned food.
Events in their mere chronology
make no sense.
And the details of yr dad's life don't either.
Late night
quiet cigarette smoker. But next day,
the butts cleaned into the can. Who does that?
Lady in a skirt or overalls rolled up - cigarette smoke.
Now it's yr dad.
Yr dad who
watches for war.
Even if Uncle Sam disbands, dissolves
we the people will still be here and stay involved
with North America. The purple mountains majesty
and shining seas
little people, big people, brown, red, and white. Addicted
to action movies.
Perhaps there is no choice. One must sit, sitting still
as a buddha, sitting bull.
I can imagine myself and all others - drivers, voters, runners -
little fetal muscles
at first. Metastasizing. What's it called when the cell
at the tip of the *****
or organism, divides, and the ***** grows? It's called
girl on a bicycle.
I find I make no sense. Her **** a practicality to her, is
delicious to me
a miraculous sea lettuce or snapdragon. You've heard it before.
A moral dilemma
wrapped in robes and silks and odors. Yet, come close,
and business beckons
work gets done, life goes on, hair grows in, we go on
vacation
the Marine Corps calls, desperate for new fetuses to teach
purposeful workmanlike killing
I'll do my own killing, thanks, when violence comes to the
neighborhood
if I've got your back
your back's gotten and if I'm on point, the point's taken.
One world under God invisible with liberty and justice for all who
Art in heaven
what the hell's his name.
Nemesis.
Hysterical.
The small war of an especially inept empire. The world's too big
to swallow as the Krauts and Nips found out. Empire
is self-correcting. Them dark-skinned mustachioed *********
who can't fix their own electricity seem to be kicking our *****
pert good. As did the ***** before them. All to the good. A
good lesson to know and then we all become friends following
the brawl. We apparently cannot skip the fight. It must
be fought, and **** the girls.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:24 PM UTC
********* sycophants
Obsequious mosquitos
Blatant fuckery
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 6:58 PM UTC
Silver-tongued soothsayer
with a voice of gold but
breath like mercury,
sing me a future full of
blue nights
&
days that seem to always
sit at the horizon.
Feed me opiates through dreams,
through tubes
down the back of my throat,
where I turn them into
poisons for my body to feast on.
Force them into my genetic make-up;
let me replicate a beautiful nightmare
out of my marrow and exhale
careless sociopathic lies
to ******* strangers and
********* with first names
I don't need to remember.
Let me be Ohio's last astronaut;
my head is past clouds,
my body, beyond earth.
Sympathy will be reserved
for those who have lost
their hearts, their hope,
their homes, their minds,
their control,
their bodies,
their functions,
their...
Yes.
Their dreams.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
Standing, waiting, my face blank, uncaring and staring
at the garish colors of their cheap and ill-fitting clothes.
Cramming in, fingers all greasy, raucously laughing,
jabbering ******** braying useless information, loudly.
Swarming, idly in hot little dark holes of rooms, making
a suffocating stench from ragged mouth-breathing.
Obnoxious.
******* disgusting, everyone.
Don't ******* touch me.
This is overwhelming.
"There's too many people in here."
You sidle up to me, saying what we're both thinking, and then we leave.
Both of us glaring at the ********* shuffling slowly, in the way,
unable to meet our height or eyes, they remain glued
to the tiny screens in their sweaty and hot little hands,
as their annoying children are screaming and running.
You.
You, with your shit-brown eyes.
Silent and stoic, with a hard-edged jaw. Are you ******** me?
Like not making eye contact with me is going to shame me,
stripping me of something that you never even bestowed?
You think I'm obscene?
Mister, look at you.
I am tired, but, I am okay. I am fine.
I don't care what you otherwise say.
Alive and sober, awake and dying.
I am improving, actively evolving.
I am not devalued or retrograding.
**** you.**
Don't not look at me, as though I were a freak.
Don't sneer and scoff, and judge me, as meat.
**** you.**
You think you know me better than me?
You think you could even convince me differently?
am I right, or am I right?
Go ahead, lock your jaw, frown and furrow your brow, you magnanimous hypocrite.
We're both autonomous, and rich, in Ameri-fucking-ca, with freedom out the *******
You're free to judge me.
I'm free to say **** you.
We both bleed red blood.
We both will do as we will,
loving, ******** fighting,
drinking, ******* coping,
hiding, hurting, smelling,
crying, begging, hating,
breathing, needing, eating,
sleeping, living, and dying
under the great majesty of
A *******
INDIFFERENT
UNIVERSE
where we both need to
stop thinking differently.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
wander and Roam – traveling show
far and w i d e You will go.
At the end. I hope You find
Here i am every time.
Young and FREE, You don’t know any more than me
And i’m
lost and sometimes lonely,
but at the end. i know i’ll find
there You are every time.
roads that wind. eyes. closed.
people watch from miles away.
they talk, run their mouths all about You and me
trivial words - - calloused feet and unkept hair
I can’t bring myself to care.
Everywhere You go i want to be.
gone sometimes i know i’ll find You,
but at the end come back to me.
Patiently waiting bent over a scratched sheet
is where i’ll be.
crisp and clean. cotton.
only to be ripped to shreds.
Unmended then you’ll go.
Come back and you’ll find. they are as before-
The work of two can’t be done alone.
Take me away to fields of green.
Take me away to streets of gold.
Take me away to deserts of sand.
Take me away to a sea so vast.
Take me
take me never to return.
blue and blue and blue and green. all the world i want to see.
Your eyes, I think, they see it differently.
golden golden golden sand. must mean more if i can hold Your hand.
anywhere anywhere anywhere You are. there i am too.
whisper to me when You come HOME
I hope HOME is always with me.
Happy and fortunate I hope You live
Young and FREE I hope You stay.
Do what You must to go Your own way
be Your own, never sway.
Don’t look back, always ahead.
find me, find me in the end.
Oct 2, 2011
Oct 2, 2011 at 8:45 PM UTC
**** you,
you, the person reading this on the other end of the internet,
and **** your poetry too.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 5:46 PM UTC