"unimagination" poems
I had someone ask me once
A stranger befuddled
Why are all your writings
*** grime or death
I replied quite honestly,
For a strangers questioning,
'Because those are the most honest things in the universe
Because I don't believe in unimagination
Id rather read of feeding on entrails beautifully written
Than the wet smell of new love
We'd rather see gods creatures splayed red and pink on the sides of highways
Than to live without cars and roads
I'm not sure if that's relevant or poetic but who really cares anyway
I'm certain that fire raining from the sky incites more passion than a newly born anything
The most fun I've ever had I'm sure I was unclothed
And I don't know about you, consumer, but sweaty ****** vicious *** is more pure than the most heartfelt love I've ever felt
If that means I'm damaged - I don't think I mind it
If that makes you pity me - don't
These are just the darkened folded alleyways of my curly brain
I can't relate to normalcy but I've heard that's nothing to be ashamed of
Your glass words cut my face and guts sharply but I'm certain I can't feel it
And I am not bothered by your gore - I feel contented by your devils
And I'd like to know who's with me in this all too descriptive sickness'
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
hello.
i've missed you.
been off in a non
reflective stretch
of my unimagination,
unlistening to the
justness of your so.
i know. i'll tilt an ear
to ground and
scribe you down
and share you
as you go.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 9:46 PM UTC
Ads for ski resorts in Parnassus
Use stock photos and puffery. Tragic
Greek heroes have been reincarnated as
Tragic drag lifts. Stony Dionysus, with his hilariously
Small ***** laid down one day and died of disbelief.
With him went epiphanies. With him went the Maenads
Who once tore their own sons apart with their bare hands
In the name of the shadow of their drunken god.
Gone is the time of performing sparagmos in the open
Or brutalizing the self-righteous prophesying.
We can’t abide gleeful brutality anymore, can’t hide
Our base instincts behind self-defense, can’t claim
We hallucinated our children were lions, that’s why we dismembered them.
It’ll be reborn. All sacred ground is, eventually,
Through the eternal unimagination of our collective
Unconsciousness. We never developed anything better
Than the cycle of, “Look, the evil Titans came and and ate permanence
Then the Deus ex Machina cut their stomachs up, saved and reassembled
Our ideas personified, so that at a later date they could be
Moulded into tourist traps and eaten again.”
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC