I like to think that when I die,
I will wake up somewhere and start living again
without ever realizing it.
I just feel so comforted by this thought.
It’s not thinking of it as an afterlife or reincarnation,
it just is.
Monthly Archives: November 2013
The Harbinger of Ill Fated Discoveries: Please Feel Inclined to Disclose Yourself Of New Information
Back door, slapped up shore,
rescue the red pandas to settle the score.
I peeled the potatoes and mashed them up well.
Time for dinner, folks. All is pleasant.
I am but a peasant, and the potato is mighty.
Worshiped like corn, except more hardy.
I’ll eat a potato in fry form, pancakes, and as a chip.
I will drink wine or vodka, let it slip.
Most of my life shall be consumed
by potato loving people.
Gather near to me, one and all,
bless this potato feast.
I stepped away from the table,
walked through the door,
passed by the amiable sea lion
cuddled with pups on the floor.
I like that about my house…
as I edge the end of the world,
everything is so wild and unusual
that I cannot ask for more.
My foot touches the salty water
of the coast line.
I pick up the potatoes that have washed ashore.
That somehow god has bestowed to me a miracle
on this dead planet of rock and plastic,
a carbohydrate so luxurious
that radioactive material has not enhanced.
Clean and simple, has roots struggling to grow into dirt;
it is but a symbol of our devastated humanity.
Corn Powder Puff Redemption Services
I need to know from the lot of you,
the scouring crusts that develop,
of mold and mildew clandestine to attack
your nervous system of repent!
I represent the species
of malcontent.
I inform you advice that you
must act upon
or you’ll regret.
This is a service of responsibility
to learn the truth.
Linger not in cold waters
to wait for you.
Old Transformed To New Material
Our Lives Meet in Moderation
Without consequence or restraint,
we tint the bars that cross the line of hate.
Mad hatter to the left, eyeing the fountain of youth to the right…
what makes a marriage work is holding your own
at crayon fights.
Splendid runabouts in bathtubs,
nude and laughing, sweat rolls down our backs.
Recline into me
my languid butterfly ship.
Let us set sail into the biohazard sex machine trips.
I Soul Searched for Sudan
Suddenly altered perspective
catching a star
breathing in my dust
through special lung tubes
I met a charming dark blue mass
at the main alter of
the church.
The Doomsday Trickle
At all cost of catastrophe,
I entropie a curatele trophy of
misconstrued anthrophony.
What I really mean to say is;
I am lonely
can someone rescue me
from this misery?
Keevan
You cannot truly fathom how lonely I feel.
The loneliness is wrenched so deep
at the pit of my spleen
I beckon please
that I no longer shall be alive.