I’ve learned of a man
who refers to his dick,
lovingly,
as White Rocket.
I imagine I can hear him yelling, “Blast off!” whenever he ejaculates.
The stories begin to simply
tell themselves,
nay?
Tag: Astronomy
Categories
science fair
we are minerals
and death
sinewy tongued
carbon based
monstrosities of chemistry
capable of love
hate
warheads
television and
entropy
hubris enough to murder a planet
and want more leg room on airplanes
we would find a way
to kill the stars
if they weren’t dead
already
with the exception
of the sadists amongst us
who exert themselves
on naive
foggywilling
lickspittle
we have no control
we do not self-create
the work force
the prison system
the gubmint
the church
have control over
their populations
but are impotent when faced with nature
control freaks
are outrageously deluded futilists
control is an illusion
a man made concept
like linear time
and money
control should be stricken
from our planetary lexicon
replaced with zen
complete non-resistance
the universe will do as it pleases
with your carbon based ass
ask the moon
or any passing meteor
acceptance is bliss
painless
i know it well
as i wrote this poem
while falling down
an unforgiving mountain
of limestone steps
and my drama queen persona has worn thin
my legends are in france begging their gods to shit truffles
their german wives to make amends
and i
i
this humble poet
i am so glad
to see it end
we humans have felt
out of control
for so many revolutions of the planet
our coping skills
have evolved into chemicals
concocting poison
for every pest found bothersome
be they insects
stains
headaches
or other humans
we kill the source of our irritation
now the innocent bystander bees
are falling too dead to feed us
but never fear
after the comet comes
when every human footprint
has been filled
with fire and ash
the earth will surely shrug
clock out
now that it’s work is done
then go down to the corner bar
to have a drink with the sun
there are days
we wake
with nothing left
no passion for grocery lists
yet we go on living for the sake
of each other
i save a bit of me for you
each day
never touching
a harmonious coexistence
how it must be
because we love
our satellites in proper orbit
we will not crash into floating pieces
the trajectory
chosen
for communication
to continue
screaming truisms into the white noise
all is well with the universe
while i
can still hear you
Categories
shooting star
the height of being
to burn, white hot
above the world
so intensely beautiful
form is irrelevant