New city’s children
Too early for maturity
Play upon sheen, oily pavement
Dancing on calloused feet
Barely feeling the heated gravel
Until broken glass reminds them
They are to grow up
Before their time,
Before any time…and
Feed the gullet of infrastructure
Picked from the driest days
A brown spring plucked, to
Produce an eternally chilled
Perpetual youth food, and…
Management, world conditioning
That keeps all matter edible
From the Kuiper Belt to Atlantis
Where Metropole mouths eat
Whatever they want, how they want it
When they want it, even if it doesn’t
Want it…with a thousand
Colors of chalk and charcoal
Clutched in their chimney sweep hands
Drawing hopscotch rules
On top of parking lots
Spread out like barns on the plains, named…
Supermarkets of Lost Foods
Where tattooed hipsters smile
Calming the old children
With sugary whole grains
Warning them of impending
Plastic packaging, pointing to
Green spaces that divide
Handicapped parking from
Silent hybrid auto engines.
Still they shop, grey bearded,
For Whitman’s leaves
in the refrigerated section
People with eleven toes do not necessarily have a better grip on things.
The most livable cities in the US are located outside the country
Antarctica wants to be on top for a change to put some spice into the continents.
Some men are dicks, no surprise there.
9 out of 10 people believe television is evil. That’s why they watch it.
96 percent of the US swear that buffalos have wings, only if they have not been bred in captivity.
Kids who enter school at an early age learn to cheat better than their peers.
New age music did not start a new age. It ruined it.
3 out of 10 strippers think they look better with their clothes on. 9 out 10 of their customers agree.
The more climate change warms things up, the more people are willing to ride bikes.
1 out of 15 satellites are sick and tired of seeing the same scenery over and over again.
8 out of 10 women fake orgasms while masturbating.
85% of drunks remember everything even though they say they forget
Birds of feather do not necessarily flock together. As a matter of fact, 59 percent admit they hate each other.
60 percent of people surveyed said they would not have children. So, it’s the 40 percent who are fucking things up.
80 percent of people stranded on a desert island would commit suicide if they didn’t have their smart phone. The other 20 percent were willing to compromise with a flip phone. Thus, humanity could possibly be saved.
78% of people believe what surveys say.
82% of doctors recommend hollering at the moon. That same 82% recommend seeking medical attention if the moon hollers back.
The Tillamook Rescue
Combed the waves for him
Jet ski bucking the tide
With a rider attached to a trailer.
Back and forth they zigzagged
I watched their orange suits
Bobbing on the reflections of the sun
A constant twinkle of life—looking
Longer than all our breaths could hold, combined
Passed between the moments of
A broken crab shell and seagull feathers.
His bluish greyness, camouflaged
By our childhood splashing, swimming, loving
We were still searching
When the sun reached the sea
- Something you lost will soon turn up, like your wife.
- Fame and fortune will soon belong to somebody else.
- You will be invited to an extremely boring event.
- The one you love is closer than you think. Run!
- Better to press shirt than to bench press.
- Love is for the lucky and the brave, neither of which you belong.
- You will live a short and miserable life.
- Sun always shines brightest during a drought.
- You will enjoy good health after a long series of illnesses.
- Happiness is an inside job and you are standing on the outside.
- Your present plans are finally going to succeed. Happy 102nd birthday.
- Shit surrounds you because you create it.
- You never hesitate to fuck up the most easiest problems.
- Never count one’s toes while measuring one’s life.
- You will gain something you always wanted, then lose it all.
- You will have many friends who annoy you.
- You will soon die, after living, maybe.
- Your smile is a treasure for your dentist.
- Long life awaits you in your storage space.
- You will enjoy many a great poops.
- You will enjoy a great many poops.
- You have a deep interest in all that is perverted.
- All you hard work will pay off, after taxes.
- You have the ability to touch the livers of many people.
- You will kill all your friends with your niceness.
- It’s time to explore new interests, because the old ones are really boring.
- You are able to juggle large heavy projects.
- Take advantage of your parents while the opportunity persists.
- Your creativity will take you to unexpected misery.
- Luck is the resin of good pipe dreams
- Doors will be slamming for you
- If you continually give, soon you will be out of everything you own.
- You will conquer all obstetricians.
- Patience doesn’t wait in line.
- The secret of getting ahead is saving all your decapitations.
- It’s better to scramble a hen then to fry an egg in your face.
- You have a repellent personality.
- Friends are like chocolate chips. You can never stop eating them.
- The current year will bring you much happiness. Happy New Year’s Eve!
- Be prepared for big and small things to fall on your foot.
- Birthdays are like friends. The more you have the more you wish would go away.
- Anything is possible when you own a large bank account.
- Wise are they who do not dumb down
- Your ingenuity will ruin everything.
- Laugh long and prosper
Your lucky numbers: Have all been used up
The flesh of my lover’s body
Still taut within memory’s touch
That distance shaped my femininity
Her sweet, sweet, large lips, appeared
As a succulent rooted plant
Which allowed me into her meadow
To traverse the yard, to stretch within the clover
Tasting her dandelion, a wine, sweet weed,
The fuzz of her stalk still stuck to my tongue
I was loved for gathering the morning dew
Loose in her garden, leaning with the spin of Earth
I couldn’t stop growing. This she knew.
but now, cut clean as a thistle, a ragwort
Decayed, clipped, mowed down to a level field—
Away from dirt, my girlhood crumbled into dirt clods.
The color of my blossom strained a shady purple
The spiny leaves of my effort condemned me
Now, In the compost bin, I spoke babble
To ivy, buttercups, and sore, sore sorrels
Who claimed they were willing to stay
Upon dirt, clay and crust, providing, promising
The creation of love, (This is not falling in love)
Planted, Watered, Groomed, Nameless.
Her name, unmentionable, our relationship, banished
As I dried to my death, breasts sagging, she pushed
Beyond my twine, into the moist regions, luring my bite
Until my teeth became mush, I managed a mangled smile
In between old lipstick, gloss, and caked on rouge
Settled within the ridges of my wrinkles
My seeds, vanished, blown away by present breaths
My memory is a vine, wrapping itself
Around thoughts, perspectives, emotions
How my tears are hotter than I remember
Her yellowed flower, a faint scent of sex
Stuck on the end of my eternal nose
Unfortunately applied to the middle of my face
The book of my fall, recited by my children
From their throats, drones like bees
Sing and dance, play above the grass
Where they fly directionless
This is of no surprise, for
I never taught them where to find the blooms
How one comes to a flower
How one talks to a flower
How one becomes a flower
Why someone would want to become a flower
When she sees me, she bends the branches backwards in anger