Friday, April 3, 2009

7 Poems


This ugliness rhymes with gave, physically speaking.
Advertising 30 seconds of free sex, I shit
And sell off the trans fat.
Where are these vices deduced from?
I think I'm gonna peak, come on, you
Gotta irrigate the fiends, raise
The dikes and what remains will tax 
My rabbit skin and steep tasty stews
While inventoried. 
It's like the way I make your eyes stalk multiplexes.
And as fish grow in the pond
We'll eat their buns too.


Minds and mental things don't exist.
Only physical things exist and it doesn't matter.
Immediate knowledge is a truth.
It follows in harmony with the victorious stun.
Once we come near contact we are gone.
Death purifies the fleeting pleasures of the world.
In blotches I am teased, the fruit
Goes bad and sticks to my fly.
Teens quickly dispose of my baby, a sacrifice
To keep motion orderly.
I name this bastard art.
My nature includes everything except for souls.
The ground of existence is the self becoming.
A wound full of mirrors and running water.
The mind includes everything except its nature.
Only mental things dismiss the harmonious
Pleasures of the world.
Death comes immediately and hardly matters.


Shadows of other planets
Hunt for worlds like mine.
The sky gets ahead of me no differently
Than what the stars say.

I gun myself down to feel my insides work, or
Maybe to prove what's temporary
In the ridicule
That takes its pants off and chews.

I will suffer on this tray.
I will suffer through life's stay.
I will suffer as if I'm a gay
Dressed up like some moldy paint thinner huffer.

Shadows wander without panic, hunting
For hopes and cares to buffer.
When I say "stars" my pants come off,
Lacking awareness of any project.


Give up on reality.
Experience the spaces outside of the tug.
Give up on experience.
Reality is limited by the spaces beyond the jug.
I do not want what I think
The same
As what I think I want.
I'm devoted to God but without
My soul, God is without life.
I give into carnality, my
Logic likened to venereal bling.

Whatever has smoke necessarily has fire.
Matter reprehends every idea in the world.
The hill it smokes, thus the hill
Has hills.
These words cannot acquire
Their meaning through convention.
Many identities harbor how the I is born.
There may be more than one possession in my body.
Denying this world speeds release.
I'm suddenly illuminated once I wipe it.


I want to bang your dark drum.
I’ll give kits another ringing hit.
A cloudy bay in cuffs, unleashed by
The evil of my solitude
Beckoning its spastic bloom.

I’m beaten through the violence.
I give myself another reasonable hit.
My agony becomes valued once
It reaches a soul reversed
By your blissful commotion.

I hope I can be the hate in you.
I’m exaggerating the reproductions we rank.
A pale gray or light
Yellow devil.
Strange mountains of violet slime.


A heavy smoker with a broken ticker
Cradles his corpse online.
Automatically attracted, the battlefields roast up
Hippos and gorillas.
Withholding death, only the ground occupies.
Numbness changes little.

Ice drifts step back from
The trains falling asleep, farting.
Twenty more wombs to go, so
Repeat my characters, my clams
And kings.

Their meat sticks sprout, and I’m moving
And feeling weird, like a neck
Purchasing a toad, like
The batteries
Buzzing in a wolf.

My image is how I think.
This image is yours to click.
I’m out collecting firewood for guns
I cannot swipe.
There’s dairy flashed under doors
High in the air, winning.


Egg stain, the decoded
Crucifixion becomes
Her peach
A few weeks late.

Curled flame, mystical
Muscles frequently choose
Golden words
In heaven and in turds.

I long for the center
Of water’s sister.
Both now and never, I’m
Nothing near.

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