I Write The World (Sideways)

I write the world sideways

To come to pain in sadness

And remain mad

Full of psychotic wormholes and memory gushes

Destined to be riddled with problems

Not of this world

I sing the song backwards

And try to leave the corner of the earth benched

While I feel the opposite

And tense

Death is somewhere out there

Lost in the city

Like the Terminator

Or Skeletor

It leaps out at me

And I want more

I Really Index

I really index

I can trust

The death plus

And all the gnomes

They have their spicy lives

They have their nice homes

While I sit in an amazing silence

And suffer to write poems

I really index

I leave tracks

The death talks

The mind racks

And all the summers and winters

And summers once again

The plain the ordinary

Days so wasted in the pretend

In a death sweet and so exact

Upon an earth proud

Like some activist

All shouting things out loud

I really index

I jump trains

The death rattle

Inside my brains

And one stop before certain terminal choices

The hallucinations recur

And back with the voices

Like a rose thrown on a giant pile of shit

The world over and done

Death makes one quit

I Want This

Dave sat heavy

The screen door swung shut

The cat strutted across the floor

“I want this” I said

And the light from the police going by flashed blue then red

“You want what?” Dave asked

“The poem”

“What poem?”

“This one by Greyspace”

“What one by Greyspace?”

“Well it gives seven lines…which are really good”

“Then?”

“Then it’s fourteen bucks for the rest of the poem”

“Holy shit”

“Yeah but I’m interested”

“Then buy it”

“Okay”

I proceeded to checkout

And bought the item

I read the remaining lines of the poem

“It’s really good” I said

“Worth it?” Dave asked

“Yeah, totally” I said

The Error

The error

In coming home

To nothing

The error

In sending out

A little prayer

To no one

The error

In being scared half to death

By ghosts

The error

Of complexity

Of grace

Of gospel

And the stark reality

The truth

Which hides

Behind it

Like some

Wizards knowledge

You Aren’t A Good Writer

“You aren’t a good writer” Dave said

I watched the cat

Her name was Celeste

She was very reserved

Often she would sit under the bed

And I wouldn’t see her for hours

I looked at Dave

He was wearing his green hoodie again

I wondered if it smelt

He had it on all week I’m sure

“What?” I said “why do I have to….be a good writer?”

Dave sneered

“You don’t I guess” he said “but don’t you want to be?”

“Yes”

“Well”

“Well what?”

“Don’t be a wannabe”

“I don’t care.  It’s not like this is a competition”

“Yeah but.  You are wasting your life doing something you are no good at”

“How could I not waste my life?”

“Help others”

“Doing what?”

“Go to a country that needs your help”

“Dave?”

“Yeah”

“You don’t know anything”

“Yes I do”

Celeste was drinking from the water bowl

We both watched

Quit Writing Poems

No more poems

Have to move

Sorry for venting

But that’s my mood

No more poems

I’ll get out of your reader

My imagination is dulling

And I won’t feed her

No more poems

Got to move boxes

To another place

Where the bug spray is toxic

No more poems

Writing is bullshit

I could get my move done

If only I could quit

No more poems

That’s a firm rule

Like I’m special or something

Or think that I’m cool

No more poems

You’re just repeating yourself

You think this is really important

When it affects mental health

No more poems

Quit writing this one

Come on now

Aren’t you done?

Quit writing poems

Just because you get stars

You have to move

But not very far

Three and a half blocks

To get to the new place

To write in an older building

With much more space

But The Words (Make No Sense)

But the words make no sense

The

Words

Do not need to make sense

Your

Mind

Will make sense of them

 

But the verse is about someone other than me

The

Verse

Relates to you because you too are human

And

Thinking

You are completely unique is retarded

 

But the poem is written in a style too simple

No

Elegance

That is because an egg is more beautiful than a dust ball

And

Love

Is no more than an intense interest in a simplicity