Either

Sometimes there are things
That make you think
Everything will be okay.

For Americans
And human beings,
Whatever you may be…
There are things that say
You’ll be OK.

For instance,

Have you ever seen the freeway
-All big and wide
And made of concrete-
Go on forever
Like it's always been there?

And heart surgery?
Can you believe
All that?

I saw a picture tonight
Of English bobbies
Passing storm troopers
Like what the fuck are you
Dressed up like that for?

Fake guns in hand,
Clubs on belts,
Like hey,
I’ve never felt either.

One day
Some boy
Find toy
What joy

desperate measures

A flaying spray shot his heart loose,
from quarters too many to find a culprit
as he knelt wondering after a will.
Ripped it onto the floor to soak in a cowards brine.
every drug mixed on
and flowing over
the oily floor
The angry organ slid back and forth in the pool
like it was trying to drown itself.
He fretted straight, fifteen years of thought blazed too hot and (of course) he fucking lunged for it.
He slipped on the floor as he scraped it, sticky and still bleeding out of the mess.
He took a bite with the hope he could still digest.

I lit four years on fire and blew the ashes into the face of the sky
a funnel cloud formed that shot the air straight through me so I fell backwards on to the wet grass
the ashes had slid back down and filled my lungs until I coughed and coughed and finally forgot everything
when I woke up the years were back on my chest all written out, just like before, in gold letters in every language
from the beginning I noticed my own handwriting and watched it start out
ugly, simple, and interesting
and then improve so fast,
dip,
improve,
and dip until it faded
into what looked like just smears
of ash and melted gold
so I gave up on burning it
and put it back in my pocket.

just adjusting my hair

you've only really been looking for that one night.
the one where instead of cold water on your head,
warm hands pour down your neck.
soft words on your ears and lips
easy thinking
speaking
showing
you'd meet eyes
with your new opponent,
your partner in crimes
who tears out your guts
while singing your praises
who tears out your guts
and stitches up the wound with her eyelashes.
then you (you and her) would light your ears with the same song,
and realize you've both felt the same pulse burn up the air in your chest.

This space station is on FIYAH!

This space station is on FIYAH!

Oh snap,
Lady Mackwah’guhwaun! Follow my lead.
Left foot, right tentacle…

-Your face extension
curl my boney shoulders-

-Your nutrition tubes
manusilk upon my neck-

Follow my lead, my love.
Follow my trailing left hand…

Can you see beyond this dense and violent smoke?
I doubt. Trail my hand.
Follow my loving arm.

Mind not the THUMP THUMP BANGS
of the offending battlefleet.

I’ll lead you to salvation,
my Qwarn’migon.

Breathe slow.
The smoke is thick.
Luck is our salvation.

The Terrorforms? Our end.

I kiss you sweetly upon the thresh of the escape lock,
“We made it, get in.”

The metal iris opens.

A single capacity mocks our love,
But you know what must be done.

“Your kiss is sweet, my love. I’ll never forget,”
You say as I push you into the pod.

She calls, “MY LOVE!”

and I slap the button.

‘LAUNCH
She is gone but saw my smile.
Satisfied by the fact
The one I love has touched my life,
I am justified to fight.

Sunrise over mars

The sun rises up a lonely lump
-one two three of them

The furthest place I see
Sol by grace.

:Whispered edges.
Unexplained proximity
Caught upon the ledges

:Do I see it there?
Caught upon the ledges?

The second cycle calls clearly
-flat and smeared and straight
--Its empty pledges promise,
“Someday you’ll be here.”

The third and closest tacit,
rife and riven, bare.
-It speaks of something different
--something not quite there

BUT HO
Are there
HO
Are they there…

Their features burst across my screen
-their boney piles edge,
Piled
Rimmed and there.
Call me, “Visit here”
.
.
.

So I sit a stone that looks like seat
And rest beneath its shade.

The air I breathe is cold

-That sun is rising?
Does it set?
Or is it simply there?

White and small.
Whispered,
White.
Sky above not Blue?

The sky is gray?
The sky is grey?
The sun,
My sol is blue.

I wonder…
Does this seat of stone
Protect me from ambition?

Does this final resting place
Forgive my cold ambition?

Math? I dunno

Rearrange your toys and magazines
- replace them with bold whatsits

Tie a knot that can’t be loosed
Or break it to your will

Subside upon your meager dealings.
Die by complex numbers.

Never share those cold conclusions
That God will draw by numbers.

Made their day

I am slumped
I am slumped

slumped my elbows into bar

Hello! He sits
And says hello
And slumps into the bar

What what what! the fuck you want?
To talk?
and smile and kid?

‘I am not your friend,’
I thought
But smiled

I am not your friend,
“Hello?”

initial questions
simple,
free,

-where you from
-what you do
-what this weather be?

Humid dew.

Answers of the kindest kind,
Like, “Hey, how you?
How we do?”

Then stories,
Stories,
STORIES!

--One time when I’s your age,
I rode, my friend beside,
we rode the highway
and came beside
some ladies riding high…
--My buddy had this sick ass Bug
tricked out
-No shit
--and I smiled, waving, ‘hi!’
-like, “HEY BABE”
--Ya,
-Like, “Hey babe”
--And know what?
?What?
---The front trunk
?The what?
--The trunk was set in front
?No shit!
--Went FWOOM!
--and BAM!
!Haha!
--I tried my best…
--We looked our cool…
--But hood, you know,
--Went ‘cross the windscreen,
--we couldn’t see a thing!

--The girls began to laugh and squeal
!I’m sure you made their day.
--We pulled emergency lane
--and laughed and did our thing

HAHA!

You know…

These things happen…

At least we made their day.

Godspeak

Gods plan.
.
Gods plan?
.
Do you think He gives a fuck?

He loves,
He cherishes;
We his Children-
He our Shepard…

The Capitol Letter that begins Our QUESTIONS.

But He,
Him, What?

… do they really give a fuck?

Tell you what:
If I were them? I’d not.
.
.
.

Am I wrong? Blaspheme
In channeling reality?

Lets begin:

I almighty create the ether;
My nothing is substrate.

My bones are matter,
Breathe is energy,
and My heart beats uncertainty.

I created you>
I and not you,
the Stone, the Dust and the Stars.

In a box of sand
I’ve built
a strange and lively stock.

-greedy negatives
-ponderous positives
A finely cultivated herd
where My misconceptions lie.

No. You living,
my true stock
are not the ones who think
or breathe by lung
or gill or wooden tendril.

My stock is more than most believe…

Hardly seen,
not free,
and they… WE… cannot see.

-My being do not breathe,
-My being do not see

We are inanimate.

Beings left to be

full,
strong
and simple in anatomy.

You
here,
cursed to wonder,

--whimper for your bread—

You are those who try to find
My Being in Your head.

Fuck

This sick fuck…
This ‘I gotta piss and feelin sick fuck.’
Is the way it’s got to be sometimes,
So it seems.

Sometimes you gotta punish your gut
And flay your lungs
To feel like night’s worth being.

Sometimes you gotta shit your stuff
To feel like, “HEY,
I’ve had enough.”