Poem-A-Day: Day 579

The Constant Pain

Those same two feet stepping on my toes
in idiotic, uncontrollable movements
looking out curtailed concepts of reality.
The convoluted overblown shift
is a constant punch-card blowing it out
and leaving the workday uninhibited.

The two feet are always at my heels
like the back of broken shoes digging deep
and bleeding skin away slowly.
It’s an unending pain that’s worthy
of ignoring until it dies a painful death:
stoicism will be the only word left.

Poem-A-Day: Day 578

Eradico

The business end of nothing
left more than the worst taste
in the mouths gasping at air:

whispering spirit drugs
and the snapping next emotion
pollinating trusted beginnings.

Poem-A-Day: Day 577

The Human Race is Lost

We have seen the human race
capture all its dreams,
all except peace.

We have seen humans rape this planet,
and sex-starved evil devils
scrape all that remains.

The earth has dreamed of less
than human happiness
and mere survival.

I’ve misplaced happiness
in the idea that peace
is realistic.

I have learned the reverse,
peace is the vacant idea
that humans care.

Poem-A-Day: Day 576

Endeavors

A shredded salvo
in the otherworldly heat wave,
and bodies looking shattered
like remains of golden,
green, clear, and brown bottles.

Broken glass spastically placed
as a haphazard puzzle solution,
gripping piece to piece
in crimson sliver tendrils
slowing moving between each other.

The mud pocked scars
gurgling wretched chrome
and oddly chromatic gore
through each sift and seine
of broken tract and flashy retort.

Each shout a minstrel call
whispering vagrant death
and the shallow buried given
of wasted cannibalism
as the snake consumes the tail.

Poem-A-Day: Day 575

The Evil Apparitions Talk Slyly

The incredulous puzzling phantasm
masquerading as a petulant sight
within the fogs of mistaken chasm.
Insensitivity aside, it still didn’t care
for the wraiths or wrath that followed.
The bellowing smoke choking fumes
and those other trumped up scumbags
filtering thought through sewage eyes.
Screaming silent dangle ample laughs
and beckon call to savage phantom grasp.

Poem-A-Day: Day 574

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An Espanol swype translated of Shine, Perishing Republic

Poem-A-Day: Day 573

Cycle 1

The whole idea, the whole project
conceived accidentally;
marring vision of disaster
breathing subtle fuck the worlds and excuses
into the cellular core of greatness
with growing steam,
steam built on a grain of salt
wedged between the oops and don’t worries.