Everyone believes in mental anguish.
Like seashells clogging everything nice.
Gruesome last bits of seaweed.
Blah.
Everyone is generous as they claim.
With their last life boat.
They want everyone to clamor aboard.
So that it gets weighed down and- no survivors.
Burden.
Unease.
As that little boat wheezes its last wheeze and starts to turn sick.
Everyone is on their last life boat, some days.
That’s either mental anguish or seaweed I’m spitting out.
When your life boat gets so full it’s like a gruesome cannonball.
No one is moving or even squirming anymore.
Burble.
It’s gruesome.
She chewed.
Everything is like chewing a tether.
The swarm.
Yuck.
It felt like entrails clogging the way forward.
She chewed.
Like she was chewing on a burning hot paperclip.
Eeek.
But whatever she was chewing snapped.
Withered.
There was a flushed silence.
Creeping feelings in her throat.
But that’s what a curse is.
You think you can chew it up fast.
So she did.
Chomped down as if she was scarfing down evil mosquitoes.
Gross.
Are we the shade of the shadow
or a shadow in the shade.
Are we sashaying toward pinhole dreams?
While trudging above an open grave.
It all seems like a giant garish gothic play
acts and players hand-picked centuries in advance.
Hobbled masses humbly kneel on crumbs to pray.
Realizing opinion nor ballot was ever worth a damn.
These two-legged, greedy, greasy snakes.
Eyes made of slag have no vacancy signs.
Clogging up our gossamer soul veins.
They're here to minimize, intimidate.
Project, disappear, dismiss, assassinate.
Straitjacket the masses with normalized madness.
We, the people, are not the ones playing God.
Poisoning water, field, sky...
Smiling in the light while eating innocents.
In the shadow of ritual and sacrifice.
These devils openly mock and taunt us now.
(byproducts of a boiling swamp).
Yellowing the face of flailing freedom.
A billion greenbacks can galvanize
such audacity and shallow bravery.
Of these deeply soiled oligarchs
and pathetic plastic kings.
they’re made for walking
Nancy Sinatra
red ones on toddlers
mud puddle jumping
hookers tall fashion
freezing leaking
winter snow boots
cowboys go-to
Irish clogging
loud running
clip clopping
line dancing
stomping
tromping
boots
Showers and Words
Showers and showers it rains
Thirsty land it drains
Hiding inside lies a seed
Shooting up to quench our need
Never does it know
That it grows a bough
Until it rains
And wets the plains
Words and words it hides
Bright knowledge it lights
Curious inside lies our zeal
A book ignites clogging seal
Never does it know
That a life does it glow
Until it is read
Showering pride and bread
by SkYPen
The bus is only practical
If you’re not in a hurry.
If time is of the essence,
Then your mind will fill with worry.
Aside from all the local stops,
The passengers board slowly
And don’t know how to swipe or tap –
Annoying! Holy moly!
A number are quite elderly,
While others come with strollers
Or luggage clogging up the aisle
Or shopping carts on rollers.
If you’re in luck, your driver
Will be practiced, moving fast,
But more likely he’ll be insecure,
Afraid of squeezing past
All the trucks and taxis double-parked
And blocking up the street.
You’ll sit there knowing you’ll be late
If someone you must meet.
It’s better on the subway,
Though, of course, it’s underground,
But it’s best if there’s a walking
Destination to be found.
More than a few drops of disdain,
tangled up hair clogging the drain.
Getting heated I cannot abstain
that is my bane, that is my bane.
This one little thing set me off,
the pipes and I in a standoff.
That old tub can come off tough,
a sluggish cough, a sluggish cough.
If the dawn light
we're not being pounded into blindness
by the pelting rain,
if the earth and sky ceased
crashing into each other
churning threads of twilight
into a bitter pulp of crushed worms,
a clogging alluvium
then all must lay as it is
until a muddled earth resettles the land
for in those muddled mounds
there will be the seeds of a new sky
Then brooms, shovels and the titans of charity
will once again labor to seal the rift
between hearts and eyes.
Pencil Sharpener
My pencil sharpener (my pencil shavings like to
get high on the
bubble of
air clogging up
the run of liquid in
the pipes) was designed to
absorb my screams of
extreme anger. Also designed to
absorb my
strained whispers.
A sea shanty to skip to,
an Irish jig hot footing
on clogging stones
heels and knees
chasing swinging hands,
jazz jiving just for fun.
Don't do much
of any of that stuff now,
unless I sleep,
then I jump into a circle dance -
rewind, age, sinew and limb,
recall again
that there is always a Spring,
in late December.
Mind dancing,
missing steps, not much leaping.
Even so, good enough.
Long time backwards
'Brown Sugar' hip jerking stuff,
white bellbottoms flaring like Day lilies.
We were a floor for others to adore,
microcosms in a single frame universe,
eyes whirring, pinned to the air
with a none-stick-glue.
It was not true dancing,
you have to enter your mind
like a matador
to really step out of yourself
and into the boot clogging
beat of a singular stillness.
Still, even now
at the doorstep of all my unknowing,
I can dance across a mindscape
with a heel-clicking, tightly laced ego.
Good enough, and
better than just
rolling around
like a stone.
I Love You
Smokers of the world unite
Keep that ciggie burning bright
Nick O’Teen is having fun
Clogging, blackening the lung
Don’t you know that it aint smart
To let that fiend into your heart
There won’t be any looking back
After fatal heart attack
And when the girl that you adore
Says she’ll kiss your lips no more
She’s looking for a smoke free zone
Leaves you standing all alone
When you're just a year from death
Pleading, begging your next breath
Even though you've never seen her
Meet your new friend Emphysema
So smokers of the world unite
Keep that ciggie burning bright
You'll never have a friend so true
When every drag says, I love you
This mixed message was brought to you by
The Devil Himself Hua hua hua hua
fragrance of tulips
bring holland to her senses
pretty dutch petals
pointed wooden shoes
clogging down the avenue
dancing with the dutch
It’s a parasite’s world.
The worm of laziness
Clogging the mind,
Ego refusing change.
It’s a parasite’s world,
Seeping through one’s blood and breath.
Adoption, adaptation to change, an uphill task.
Ignorance, dark, deep, masquerading ugliness.
It’s a parasite’s world---
Where dependence is practice.
And excuses-- strategy, to design.
Deadlines met feverishly by others.
It’s a parasite’s world,
Where type of work affect quality.
Where comparison and perks galore
Stifling freedom, to create with responsibility.
It’s a parasite’s world,
Where, those who do and are willing
Get busted with jargon of abuse.
Euphemisms learnt and articulated.
It’s a parasite’s world
Where fear is fed with horror.
Where incompatibility and incompetency
Rule one’s hidden strength and power.
It's a parasite's world
where love lavishes in luxury
and 'Basic Instinct' given prowess
Suck out life from the 'highest of all species'.
Listen to the silence,
before the sip of this brewed potion,
an enticing concoction,
Do you hear the harvest ,
The songs oozing from the volcanic sandy loam,
perspiring earthy herbs that graciously glow,
sprinkling notes of the sweetest flowers,
the heavenly dark red golden lake that awaits,
in the ark of this marble mint mug,
For a minute, the rich roast takes hold on to these lungs,
Pulverizing every weight that rests on my ribs,
Singing songs of spring to my winter brain,
Have I been too needy,
for the touch of coffee to run down my throat,
hoping it would wipe away every artery clogging my heart,
Maybe I yearn for these beans way too much,
Or are they simple my subconscious crutch.
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