Consumption

"We thrive on corpses"
Spring declared as she consumed the dead landscape, claiming
the decay as nourishment, I too, felt her pulling me under
gripping my chest, filling my lungs, luring me to the earth
with lavender scents that sensuously mixed with rosemary and sage,
with freshly cut grass, and freshly cut skin.
And now she has me, locked in with roots and nostalgia,
with the bones of my grandfather and my own weakness.
Let me have my hibernation after all, your dead
keratin has nothing on the weeping willow's long locks,
and our bed has nothing on the warmth
of the winters sweet decay.

Still working on this one, it will be alot of work too.

sometimes I wish to become nothing, to just kind of painlessly dissolve with no memory of me left behind, if you have read my other poems you would realize that I face these desolate feelings every once in a while. I am not entirely sure where it comes from, take a look at my "some thoughts on suicide" post if you want to know more about my past with this. It is not a "pretty" side of me, but if you are reading this then you know that I do not try to be a "pretty" person, I try to be an honest person, even if the truth is ugly.

For all of you Tuning in this Fine Evening

Maybe if we just run in one direction long enough
we will end up liking it.

Maybe that seemingly important question:
"What do you want from life?"
is an exercise in futility, because
whether we want it or not
Life is already here.
See? There, you are doing it right now.

It is made up of these insignificant moments,
a summation if you will, modeled by your path,
the one you accidentally took this morning
because of the traffic, your dog, and the caffeine content
of your bloodstream. And we keep on running from our shoes
but we are our biggest influence.

Maybe this road, this beauty, this pain
is its own reward. Or maybe not...

Blood Rust

Black bones and blood,
the creaking dinosaurs bobbing their triangular heads
pulling, sucking, with terrible purpose
their own essence from the earth.

Herds of them for miles and miles
stretching to the skyline, a desert necropolis,
mired in place in a graveyard of dust, the killing
rust stopping joints, grinding until
there is nothing left.

Today you bought the blood, I did too.
It runs through our asphalt veins and arteries,
fueling our vampire soul, if only we could be weaned.

The poetry I write is influenced heavily by the music I am listening to at the time. Which is why I often post what I have been listening to. Here it is

Synergy

Flowing through paths of least resistance,
like electricity, or blood.
We met on oppositely charged plates
and discharged though veins and arteries
beyond my understanding. So
I measured the transfer functions
mapped out the schematic, went to work
on modification, duplication, amplification
in hopes of reincarnation.
That spark of life in the frankenstein vessel,
prep the springtime, organize like children
sick of school and longing for mischief and ice cream.
Hopefully it will make it out alive.

Accidental Art

You brought me my skeleton.
A driftwood representation of my soul
is the explanation I would give to the art society,
gnarled and contorted, hollow and brittle
it sat, being examined, scrutinized.

The jagged gashes represent missing pieces of myself
torn out during the storm of life,
they nod politely. The dark black staining:
my mistakes and/or shame. Yes yes, very nice.
The worm holes, now those I could not explain well,
but it is something about the surprising fragility
of humans and diaries and poems and relationships
and how they are shattered so easily.


one of my favorites

Reddit Poe-em

basically I just took my favorite poem (dream within a dream-by poe) and replaced them with reddit themes. Nothing special.

Take this Upvote upon thy karma!
And, in parting on my saga,
Thus much let me allow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my votes have been on a meme;
Yet if karma has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
On some bacon, or on none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a meme within a meme.

I stand amid the rage
Of an up-vote laden front page,
And I hold within my hand
Arrows to the golden land-
How few! yet how they roll
Through my fingers to the troll,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One for the pitiful slave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a meme within a meme?

Bigger Pictures are Cruel

The day you were born
your father came home sober
and your mother, drugged
on painkillers. And the snow
suffocated the landscape with its
purity. He peered into your
nebula eyes, while you lay in your reed-basket,
swept along the nile, terrified of tabula rasa.
How dare you be born at such an inconvenient time,
was his first thought.

His second was on the subject of existence:
Do we persist after we are forgot?
Can we exist if we are never known?
And you floated down the nile,
out into the vast delta,
into the constant change that is life.