[Somewhere near miracle street, Pennsylvania Station]
The apocalypse is etched in his sagging eyes
More bombastically than poster-board repentance
Nostradamus lullabies quell his poetry;
His lips parched for the Blood of Christ
Inspired by Whitman
Whoever you are
Wherever you call home
Whatever you believe
Whether you’re a god-fearing man
A liberal or conservative
Whoever you chose to be
I want you to stop and shut the fuck up for two minutes
An empty window
That passes light as
If it were invisible
Gets painted by an opaque mess
It’s a slave to the artist;
the loudmouthed idiots trying to stain the world Continue reading
To those people and things that get stuck in our life
Old friend
I don’t know why I bother
Seeing you again
Old friend
I don’t know why I’d want you
In my life again
Old friend
I must admit it’s good to see you
And I love that familiar smile
Old friend
I really must see you again
I shouldn’t see you for a while
The new god comes from within. The margins are too small to contain it
I sang to the mountains
And they danced back
I didn’t need music theory
I could see all the notes clearly
I love getting lost in the woods
And getting lost to a song
Its corrosiveness can peel away our sanity
And bring out the child that wants to play
What is this feeling that saints and sinners fail to make sense of?
This sort of love of life, communion with our species, sense of an ocean?
From out of our curiosity and creativity, there is a desperate desire to communicate
Out of nowhere these feelings can intoxicate us, and our emotions don’t want to be alone
I could talk forever of the song of acidity, whose melody stings as it soothes, but peels away
our weaker selves
It is a dangerous abject certainty of the spirit, a psychosis full of illusion and mind games, a
fool’s wisdom, yet the very definition of human nature
This is the rainbow of our mind’s tempestuous flurry
Love is a drug
And poison
And intoxicant
And depressant
And acid
And addiction
And euphoria
I
The world is my alien. I know as I see the shining happy people pass me by. Like a widowed penguin, I guard my water bottle bought somewhere in Penn Station, for truly it’s the one thing I shall ever own.
A dazzling flash and million eyes beguile me like incandescent death whispers to a fly. Nothing is collimated and everything astray. Soft you now—the optical saltwater must be repressed, consumed, and iced over for the persistence of time. Let all time run out so I never return—choosing instead to laze around, stalking the shining happy people, the burning lovers, the Beatific Romantics so that I may learn their unstrung secrets of attachment.
The persistence of time.
A semi-colon is used to separate two independent clauses;
The two have to be closely related though;
Proper people have guidelines like these;
Our perception of “proper” is derived from Victorian social mores;
Victorian perfectionism is derived from Puritan tyrannical overthrows;
Tyranny is a form of government in which cruel people lead;
A member of the aristocracy is 4% more likely to be sociopathic;
Your state of mind is a disease;
You can never connect that impossible tangent of fleeting electrical currents in your mind;
Light travels much faster than electrons;
God separated light from the dark;
God separated woman from man;
Some wonder who this God person is anyway;
.I wish I could live on the moon
. See the half-broken Earth
. Weighed with a half-broken heart
. Feel half my weight
Though time is still young in my view,
I feel as though I’m eighty-two
Weary I am to understand
Confused I am by the failings of man
People demand glory and nothing less
But I need desperately to find rest
Post-Quantum Poetry 