Red #40

I’d rather have your blood
spilt on my rug than Red #40.
I won’t settle for fake.
And the less organic, the more it stains.

I want brains, not something staged.
A bleeding heart drained to empty
Is more nifty
than fast food fairy tale gooey syrup
in thumping styrofoam facades.

If I’ve a stain to clean, so help me god,
I want it whole, unprocessed, raw.

I’m not looking to make a mess, but I guess, in the event
it wrecks, splits, breaks and leaks
It will not have been all for a boob
made of plastic, silicone or saline.

No Pinocchio aspartame lying games
Cialis snoot fabricating into flames

A real boy, all flesh and truth,
Upright and stringless is good to choose
So if I’m born to lose
Make him the genuine article
Guaranteed to be
Hand born atoms, cornfed particles

It’s hard to count on a love that will last
But easier to move on
When armed with enzymes,
scrub brush and solutions that work fast.

Published in: on May 28, 2013 at 1:53 am  Comments (2)  
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If there is a god maybe his plan is more complex

If there is a god
maybe his plan is more complex
than a human can understand.
Maybe each motion in this long history of people
is the grandest Rube Goldberg ever concocted,
and the end is the ultimate enlightenment…
That someday all the anguish we suffer as a species
will suddenly make sense.
Perhaps it will be a billions plus “Aha!” moment
and we’ll collectively know why children were abused
why conflict ensued, and why lives were ripped apart;
how hope often prevailed and we trudged on in our human race
with a limp, just to reach some elusive epiphonic finish line.

Maybe each topple of an ill-fated domino
is a falling push toward the age of Aquarius
And it is hard to make sense of the pain and suffering
our populous must endure to reach an end that is
beyond our finite comprehension of peace.

But if we could not understand it, why, why would we keep going?

Explore. Adore.

I’ll follow you down paths I would not have otherwise taken
Only to see the joy on your face,
To feel the world as you want it,
To be part of the landscape when you fondly remember.

We’ll cut back and forth
Like giggling pixies chasing through forest groves
Dabbling, each, in the course of our lover
Reveling in the newness when we crossover

This is new love, or insightful love,
And not the deep and selfish rooted groove
That forgets growing together means branching out
Kissing leaf to leaf
And twining up towards canopies.

I am you are me, but not the same
We are singular entire separate hearts and brains
Bold diving faith in foreign terrain
And each we are, which each with to be
Parallel pioneers braiding amourific symmetry

Published in: on May 27, 2013 at 5:41 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Inside the Out

I’m inside the out
brashing the wind
grating myself into seconds
forever blistering some young lad
with sun
and great things found shining
on city sidewalks
amidst gumblots
and gunshots’ spent casings.

I can see all the way
to kingdom come
and around the corner.
We’re not gonna go big or go home.
We’re yesterday’s news;
gonna drift, flit, and waltz
through thin air, tower tops
and then Camelot
Brumbling gaily
into stark night.

It’s not that we’re half-sights.
I wanna be sleeping when day breaks,
Deaf to the shatter,
Deep in the slumber,
Odometer rolling back numbers…

Forget all the bumpers and bothers;
Get bright, gyrate and burst!
Dunk cookies,
Bang the rookie,
Find the lost key
And quest yourself to death.

I can tell myself there is some meaning
When all solid matter could be conceived
As equal nothing.

So yeah.
I’m inside the out.
And it’s all over the place.

Published in: on May 15, 2013 at 10:47 pm  Comments (1)  
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