Poem-A-Day: Day 146

Meop

Times uncertain in lust,
black, cold dancing dangerously,
unfathomable He:
within ominously prowls
rats wet and burning like darkness.
Piles wood; trees among them stand
could He, would He? They aren’t stolen.
Lost moments in free walking
and still standing, He is there.
Together wrapped how and
what is he, suffering human in
bondage. Cuffs criminal as
hands joining, insane and wicked
thoughts drop dew on feeding devils.

Poem-A-Day: Day 145

The Con of Man

Grifting through crucifixion,
and passing on the savings
to the poor and dispossessed
in some passing fad,
and the passing fades to fathoms
going down,
deeper down,
deeper still
until the bottom rung
resembles a single nail,
driven through the feet
of the world’s greatest conman
pulling the wool over,
and over
until it looks of threads;
hanging curtains
of a sallow face,
smiling behind the fringe
and realizing that the sunny side,
has always been on the underside.

Poem-A-Day: Day 144

Nothing But Song

I’ve been getting it all wrong,
all wrong,
somehow it’s all been wrong.

I’ve been putting my ass to the grindstone,
all wrong,
my jewels have been catching the sparks.

I’ve been letting things get in the way,
all wrong,
I should be pushing them out into traffic.

I’ve been gutting my brain like a fish,
all wrong,
it should be spilling the thoughts on fire.

I’ve been betting on things to change,
all wrong,
the changes are scamming me blind.

I’ve been butting into the winners,
all wrong,
they should be budding into my vision.

Slave’s den shedding shit; all songs,
all songs,
somehow it’s all just been songs.

Poem-A-Day: Day 143

248>143

Some brain-dead genius
tried marketing a phrase to the world,
and it sunk in;
some god forsaken meteor
debasing the human race,
crippling all the joggers' legs
like so many felled trees.

But if a trillion trees fall at the same time,
does the sound sound differently
to anyone bothering to listen?

Because it’s not so much a phrase,
but some twisted mathematical equation
equating the most vapid sequence of numerals
since it was discovered that pi
could not be eaten,
nor ever fully realized.

143, at rest seems simplistic,
‘til someone decided to shit it up
with some bizarrely worded meaning.

"I love you,"
naively stated
in arbitrary numeric terms,
washed of what little meaning it has
and traded in for middle school charm.

I have a better phrase
as equally numeric,
and with a richer double meaning.

It’s no less complicated,
yet infinitely more intriguing,
and with far more uses
than a simple 143.

248 simply means:
go fuck yourself
twice as much as the last.

Poem-A-Day: Day 142

Echoes

Distant echo
crooning across the skies,
bouncing off millions of distant stars,
millions now living,
never dying,
and the scent
of remembrance trapped
in indescribable consequences floating
like the chilling reminder
of something
possibly lost,
or willingly departed
to somewhere that allows reverberation
off of bells and metal,
ringing softly,
but not gone,
merely a distant echoing;
sounds like hearts beating in the heat
of their own chests,
beating distant.

Poem-A-Day: Day 141

My God! It’s Full of Onions

Some distinct smell of onions
wafting maniacally;
a plane flying stunts
around cavernous billows of hair
and steam.
Magically, the onions are there,
but why,
where did they come from,
the road is no place for dancing onions,
no place for dancing anything.
Yet they mock incessantly,
waltzing about the air
out of sync with all known physics,
and physics is everywhere,
physics is law above man,
above gods,
it cannot be destroyed, only altered,
matter is matter
no matter the determinant factors.
Regardless,
the onions dance,
cooking their delightful scent
upon the hapless denizens
driving to and from
wherever they come and go.
The onions don’t seem to care.
The onions are planes
skywriting mystery
into the craft of dance.

Poem-A-Day: Day 140

Fool Hearted

They call me a fool…
a fool.
I am a fool.

foolish for them,
foolish looking,
foolish for faithfully pursuing

the shit that people say is foolish
of me to do, but I’m foolish.
I’m nothing but foolish.

“Fool” they say,
fool for everything.
Fool, nothing but a fucking fool.