Forget Life

Forget life
It doesn’t matter
Just concentrate on death
My death
Just confuse death with living
Just kill all my selves
And be left with none
Just be a bastard about everything
And gun down egos
Yours, mine, dead peoples,
Until death itself appears tirelessly
Wearisome
On earth for everyone
Including me

A Man In A Closet

There was a man in the closet
No one knew why
We knocked and said “out”
Afraid he might die
But he slipped a note
Of the purest doubt
Under the door and wept
No one knew what to do
His secret
So well kept
And often
Often
I wondered what for
Until blood seeped
From under the door
And no one knew
What to do
Or what was true
He never said
And the jaws of life
Were required to open the closet
To find him dead

Gone Forever

With just a touch 
I blacked out forever
Just a pinch
And white lightening shot me forever into a oblivion
With just a simple hammer
And a stong nail
I pounded a third eye into my head
And dropped dead
With guns and ammo and blamo!I feel for a trigger and pull it
And done
My life over from a single bullet
“Die befor you die” say the Sufi mystics
So I shot into the sky
A soul that billowed out like a parachute
And winked out
Left
Rid of myself to a death upon death
Dying so many times the reader finds it odd
In so many rhymes
Disguised as God
Blinded by a time of crucified anger
And raising my own cross named “never”
To be boss
Of my infinite loss
Gone forever
And ever

I Punch The Poem In Your Face

I punch the poem in your face
And do a little dance
I kick the metaphor in your heart
And give you one chance
To do a better art
And pass on your TV
Your book about stars
And your pipe dream of being an actor
I lance you with a harpoon 
On a tractor
And you wail like a baby and I smack you
Put you in the post and track you
Force you to sing
And back you
Computerize your brain and hack you
I sit restless
Confessing my undressing and messiness
Ending the poem like a hot dog
Like it or pass it up as right dirt – muck truth
Trash
And the words jump up and splash ketchup on your white shirt
Spelling “fuck you” 
And you scroll past muttering “what an ass!”

Out From A Book

The world feels shook
By a seriousness of nets
All along my body hooked
Like a soul if a soul was real
Like a sane man
If a sane man ever felt how I feel
Can I face this day
Can I erase this love
Can I place my way
Everyone is above
They descend as guess
Forgetting me
I write even less
Betting to be
A fretting stupidity
Can I face this day
Can I panic anxiety paranoid
Away to an inner drawer
To show “my nerves”
A “what for”
Can I face this day
And people I’m mad at
Can I seize the day
When I have never grabbed it
Can I face this day
Can I get wasted instead
End up took
Friends look –
I’m upside down in a book
I turn and burn with learning
And sigh
I’d rather read stories
Than live and die

Days Kept Silent Weeping

Days kept silent weeping a fled dream wept for all eternity wet with maturity into modernity
Silent pressure to dish out pleasure and entertain with an insane brain of invention and bodily tension
A red sparrow flies into my dream and my passiveness remains I will take it to the grave
All along my ridged mind is fudged rhyme of unbudged time and space divine in waves
And names unsaved by days gave to ways of men who yay-say to the fading grays of past lays
Fired up in an oven of lust the libido rises up in a gust
Suffocates
And takes
Up
A layer of dust
Days kept undreamed of and no longer remembered as though swept by like a cold shiver in a long December
Minds dry from boring highs where the spirit dies for the drugs of lies and magic sky pies that survive all time
And I’m the poet who wrote it the hands that strangled the mangled handle on life paid in likes
Or – faded as a boring blogger – passed over as a loser and stabbed in the back with a comment unliked
A seed of breath
And a greed for less
Afraid to take out your knife because I might bleed to death –

The Best Beast Undressed

I might not be the best
At writing about death
Some people say stop
But without it I am a mess
What happens when we die?  And are not?
They ask this dumb question – the most!
Well
If you are buried you rot
If cremated
You are toast
I may not be sugary enough to get your like
I’m a bit awful but you aren’t no perfect ghost
Yourself
Less than a ghost – just body!!
That lives near the coast
And goes – long live all resistance
Let’s roast God
Where God is the main host who can boast
We worship and pray him into existence
And this post was preventable
Eventually eventual
I am and you are we all are
Sort of expendable
But all the same
Or deeds as meaningless as our newsfeeds
Are commendable
We did good and it was intentional
Hard as atheists
But tender though
Sending all these rhymes across a universe
Expanding to a question
So so questionable –