Killing off incidentals

Killing off incidentals

Writing magnetic poetry

On a child’s blackboard

That I found in a dumpster.

 And then sometimes I get really high

 and Light a long filtered smoke, Thompson style.

And I exhale so hard until I am practically breathless,

In hopes that God himself will procure cancer

And beg for our help…

Not to see who does and does not run to his side

But to see him fall

‘Cause if he falls, it proves he is only human after all

But if we see no crash, no landing

Perhaps it means we ourselves are not human at all

But only animals chasing our tails…

A sinful whisper traveling the land from ear to ear

Like an underground telephone game.

 I get back into the poetry

Struggling to make things fit in my head.

Using someone’s chosen cookie cutter words

To create what I have been screaming

For years.

Could drive a nice girl like me insane,

Mad even.

And there are never enough words

And there are always too many words

No validation, just a mindfuck

And finding yourself into another pissing contest with yourself .

I peek out the window now and then

In search of a miracle crash

But it is disturbingly quiet.

Then I light another smoke,

And blow smoke rings off into the sky

Like carrier pigeons sent to scream sickness and chaos,

and disturb that unsettling  silence.

And I think I am doing this all

In hopes of creating

My very own miracle

But no crash landing has happened

Suddenly, Optimism crawls up on me

Like an unwanted child

.

As I think of the results

On the pool on god’s fall,

He’s dropping back in the race

No gloves up at all in sight

I’ve got the upper hand,

The angle

And now the words on the chalkboard flow

Like William Taylor Jr’s sweet never-ending glass of wine.

The silence is gone,

Replaced with screeches, natural disasters, and bells from those carrier pigeons

Letting me know their task is done.

And somehow, now everything makes sense.

Time to get high again,

And search for a vowel on the chalkboard.

My black smoke rings

Dance around in the sky

like a good old fashioned

SOS.

Please be on the lookout for my forthcoming book from Interior Noise Press. No date set, because apparently I have become a lazy asshole. Shocker.

                                          

comments and hate messages always welcome.