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Ethan Klastaitas Poem
As the weather chooses its flavour for the hour,
Stubble-ended wood shaves itself on the layers of unseen ground.
Synthetic puke seeps through pores seeking to devour
Every tiny, curled hair floating in the murk around and around.
Pool party skies reside a millimeter higher than the tallest fingertip:
Leftovers infect this mass of last meals passed on.
A spindle of cloth runs out with time enough to graze my lip
And still no locks of winter-lived years could sink a single talon
Into the darkest dark of fleeting moments taken from a fork.
Shall this be all that has come from years after that first unscrewed cork?
Copyright © Ethan Klastaitas | Year Posted 2023
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Ethan Klastaitas Poem
Choose unironically ripping off a film to be ironic
Choose now because then will never be enough
Choose puff puff puff puff puff pass because you’ll never have enough
Choose feeling guilty in the morning because it’s better than sobriety
Choose watching the movie instead of reading the book
Choose a diet of coffee, fags and alcohol so you die before you remember
Choose a t-shirt with a design on the back so you can have a personality
Choose a McDonalds breakfast because the ad told you to
Choose a rhyming couplet to be traditional
Choose the right party to be constitutional
Choose voting for the fox in disguise because the wolf bares it’s teeth
Choose third wave feminism because you need an identity
Choose bringing down the patriarchy because there’s nothing better to do on a Sunday morning
Choose loving a random person because you hope they love you too
Choose pretending that everything’s alright because if you admit it’s not everything will fall apart
Choose falling deeper because it’s easier to fall than to climb back out
Choose a life of desperation, regret and pain because everything else is two dimensional
Choose being pathetic because nothing else will ever work
Choose a random guy to be spontaneous because everything else is planned
Choose an iced watermelon tropical passion fruit and kiwi vape to get you through a day of absolutely nothing
Choose a five bedroom house with two bathrooms and an en suite with an open plan kitchen-dining area and a kitchen island with little stools around it that will never be used because they’re uncomfortable and are there purely for aesthetic purposes
Choose colour changing LED lights because your mood should be defined by the colours around you
Choose a death bed of poppies to pity the victims of their creation
Choose being sarcastic because humour is all there is
Choose optimism so you have more to drink
Choose an eclectic music taste for all occasions because you must be accepted
Choose sex with a person you love because you ed everything else
Choose God in a vacuum-packed ready meal ready to eat in two minutes (in bite sized pieces) because you can’t jump into believing all at once
Choose artistic robbery because no other robbery is as fulfilling
Choose repeated techniques and extended metaphors with personification and assonance and consonance and sibilance so all the English teachers have a job
Choose recycling because the environment is important and you must feel good about something
Choose protesting so you matter to an undefined united utopian organisation
Choose alliteration because it’s taught to primary school students
Choose an electric car because you can and will save the environment single-handedly
Choose a hybrid car to satisfy Greta
Choose a gas-guzzling Ford because the power and the people of the United States are most important to those who own it
Choose cycling to inflate your ego
Choose walking because you need to be important
Choose human ing beings because it’s all you’ll be and we’ll be and I am and you are and how do we and what do we and why do we choose
Choose to continue
Choose the pause button when you go to the bathroom
Choose a TV show with an archetypal male character that struggles through life with uninspiring repetitive originality and a love interest which never starts and never finishes and a friend or two and a cheap car with a faulty engine and a vague meaning which applies to everyone because everyone has to feel something and art is a collective mob
Choose a double bed because you enjoy sleeping next to a ghost
Choose an iced oat latte with two shots of espresso and three pumps chai and one oat with organically processed coffee beans that come from fair trade farms in a town far far away in Columbia somewhere because it’s socially acceptable to be addicted to caffeine
Choose a weekly shop at Lidl to organise chaos until you realise everything is smaller and everything is bigger
The universe and the stars and the earth and the land and the people and the dust and the atoms and the neutrons and quarks and everything came together to choose you
Choose believing that you exist in this world
Choose forgetting this world forced you to exist
Choose writing so you can tell the world to itself for existing
Because on the nose and blatant is choosing to continue on
Choose convention
Choose repetition
Choose choosing
Choose metaphorical miscommunication
Choose abstinence
Choose nothing because something is really nothing
Choose please oh god choose
Choose freedom
Choose passion
Choose kindness
Choose beauty
Choose for s sake
Just choose
Choose life
Copyright © Ethan Klastaitas | Year Posted 2023
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Ethan Klastaitas Poem
In three billion years the sun dies, Earth with it and the ring around Saturn too.
When will the apple fall?
Will it fall close or roll?
The apple rots eventually, the tree forgets and fly’s brains are too minuscule to understand at all how to mourn.
Grey hairs mean death.
It starts with the milk teeth twisted out, in blood and pain - experience is necessary for the end, I suppose.
How feelings infect the stomach then implode in a cloud of stardust that consumes Neptune’s ice cold handshake.
All this inevitable, repeatable for a few billion years.
And yet we worry of what is to come in the next fifty or so.
A death in the family - dominoes topple.
A spanner in the gut that wrenches and pulls and ties in knots all coherent thoughts.
A language of dashes and dots rattles with haste before the soul, mind, brain, spirit, heart and living tissue rots.
All the while pulsars rotate with a common rhythm but how beautiful it is that we must do the same:
To live and to breathe and to walk amongst start dust we must all just be dying stars.
A second in a black hole bends to a year.
A neutron star collapses a decade to a minute and we worry when or why or how the future may proceed.
As does Mars when his soul settles down and he marries, starts a family, then worries of his daughter’s daughter’s marital status.
The apple that hit the nail on the head rolled down the hill and was kicked into space to orbit, forever, Gaia’s deepest woes.
The same dust that it conceived flows through our veins today.
The pulsars vision of a continued rhythm is humanity’s constant dream.
All cosmic terror and dread, worries the same as an apple that is used to be bitten, a human that is conceived to indulge themselves in a pool of lifelong anxiety and a pulsar dreading the next time it beats.
That beat may never come.
Copyright © Ethan Klastaitas | Year Posted 2023
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Ethan Klastaitas Poem
Fall,
Fall
And keep on falling until
You splatter and drip
On the head of a man in a chequered shirt.
He's bin scraping,
picking
and trying to get in.
Sweat runs down it's black exterior.
Gum is chewed again,
as it feels sweet, sweet moisture once more.
Him and a friend find a crack
And go at like gold miners.
Sharp pangs cut through erogenous graffiti...
...then the bin asks what is it all for?
Suffocated by cigarette ends,
enough to make a pack of Marlboro's,
Albeit a wet one.
I don't question the scrapers and stealers, I question the onlookers.
There contents not much better than mines.
I think I'm just bitter.
It's clear what I'm supposed to do:
Fill up with rain water and let the litter float down the streets.
Copyright © Ethan Klastaitas | Year Posted 2023
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Ethan Klastaitas Poem
Kill me in a bed of grass
To avoid any bridges that come to pass
I’ll lay in wait for an eternity
If you promise an embrace with no pity
These blasting lights send me underground
Give me your forest to create a shroud
Neon floods will exist no more
Smother me with vines please I implore
Sprout trees taller than skyscrapers
So I catch myself falling through a thousand branches
Let leaves don the concrete drapers
For if you do all this I will have no chances
Copyright © Ethan Klastaitas | Year Posted 2023
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Ethan Klastaitas Poem
Understand one thing and take it to death
Tell him of it’s worth and show him it’s tears
He will drench it in darkness and tell of nothing better
It is pathetic that no one shall ever see that you never mattered
Cosmic passing, gone to the galaxy without a blink
All that he never touched will know nothing
His hands could not reach light years
But his thoughts reached further than deaths ever will
When you meet deaths loving inescapable grasp
Stare him in his black hole eyes and tell him
Tell him you never mattered
But don’t forget that he is there forever
An eternity in shadows
His only power is inevitability
Feel the jealousy in his intimate hold for he cannot think beyond the light
In our last dying breath we still hold the might
Copyright © Ethan Klastaitas | Year Posted 2023
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Ethan Klastaitas Poem
An apparitions favourite word from punctuation-less sentences that continue on, on, on.
Cope without it you useless fools a flick suffices.
Semi-colon, colon, joining words thrust through the large intestines that have never shone.
After the stop get off without thought of linkage you unthinkable Pisces.
However, no!
Thoughts trample, stomp, overtake.
Nothing in between to show.
Forget that word for your own sake.
Digest in thin slices the minds of future dots;
How many of us, you, me fit through the gap of two tight solid circles?
Not many I say, a plethora of squiggles, signs, symbolic scriptures is enough to conquer any land of literature a scholar contends.
Enough, enough!
Shove conjunctions down your throat till you choke,
until the place where the sun don’t shine is all ands and buts.
Three in a row, look at that beauty!
And how I wish however and yet and since and or could rid the world of twin black holes that forget how long a thought digests.
And how I feel when meanwhile, in order to order a latte, a person detonates a but bomb before all hell breaks loose.
And yet here is a list: lust, brunch, juniper trees, a microwave oven and an ironclad knight.
As if a dash fits snugly into colon (about as much as ham and eggs fits in as a midnight snack).
But a stroll through a park, with leaves that drown and colour concrete from pavement to sky, with the person you met on the journey in between.
How it stings in the heart when the black hole with no new friends can’t even microwave a meal to a suitable temperature.
It will come and you are no saviour as it is inevitable.
So you see, you see the paths that cross through long and short,
the ands that tell of all to come and the stops that argue placement anywhere possible,
the flick that continues with no pause to think.
Can’t you see and don’t you understand.
One is left, they come in threes, the most popular of all because there is nothing in between and nothing to end.
No, not here, not ever and not now…
Copyright © Ethan Klastaitas | Year Posted 2023
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Ethan Klastaitas Poem
sand falls sweetly down
clambering over and through
in waves of the sea
Copyright © Ethan Klastaitas | Year Posted 2023
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Ethan Klastaitas Poem
It was in smudged oil pastel;
Soft to the glare and rough to the delicate brush of flesh.
In your eyes were the starry night skies that Van Gogh never let go.
But above all: your gait, your stride, your purposeful amble held the life I used to know.
His face moulded like clay;
And how I remember the faces he pulled,
That could even make Mona Lisa give us a smile.
Now that I see his profile set in stone I realise da Vinci can't ever resurrect a faint hint of the face I used to know.
It's just like he said - the melting clocks.
Dripping, gathering, forming into black pyramids of every thought he ever had.
I wonder whether a face saves the user of its past life;
Or is it like Picasso always said?
The portrait split into a million faces of every person who wore it.
One in chalk, one in charcoal and a luminous one blotted by a felt tip pen.
In every one of these is the face of you that passes in the streets and carves a river through my cheek.
I know only one of you exists in the portrait but I have to say, from far away, in a world that I cannot view,
I spied on you and swear I glimpsed the face of the man I used to know.
Copyright © Ethan Klastaitas | Year Posted 2023
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Ethan Klastaitas Poem
Behold how pleasure seeps through to the strangest places;
as if it's effects could make a river climb a steep incline.
A pink, feathered ball with a pipe cleaner neck and an old rubber nose, stands in stasis.
Or should I says hops, where exactly do we draw the line?
It's blinding pink is no sign of flamboyance nor an ostentatious display.
Flamingos are what they eat and what they eat doesn't give a damn about their mental state in the coming months.
Smirks creep, snickers descend, what colour of lonely shall it choose today?
Grey would be great but the grim reaper is not someone one confronts.
One leg to hold on and the other dedicated to keeping up appearances.
A stand-up has no chance against a desolate land with an estranged flamingo slotted in centre stage.
Spotlight focused, eyes agaze, feed upon this barren creature and forget common decencies.
If only it could choose it's colour...red, red with rage.
Copyright © Ethan Klastaitas | Year Posted 2023
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