Anything that closes Can open again Like chapters of history That emotional cauldon Blowing it's lid Boiling over it's rim Roiling content conglomerate Filled with blood and riddles As we drive our cartwheels Over hectares of the bones Of those that have gone before With foolish finishing beliefs That a chapter has closed Only to gaze into the abyss Brutally pried open again By our ignorance and bliss Inhumanities calling card To this earth we inhabit
Tag: writingcommunity
Visions
Not having things I
don’t want that others tell me
I should want is fact.
My gratitude for what I
do have is no mere mirage.
Squeeze the Wheeze
Life is full of many peaks and valleys. One thing that has helped me traverse those highs and lows is the knowledge Firesign Theater gifted me back when I was just a little sprout in Indiana. That was the truth bomb of Everything You Know Is Wrong. My mother was a Bozoette in high school, so I must go where the Bozos go. Naturally I got on the bus with Chairman Barney and we went to the future. That’s when I found out that We Are All Bozos On This Bus. Unfortunately Uh Clem was doing maintenance on the future that day. Not only were the clones out of hand in the future, but the Holygrams were as well. But we inflated our shoes, stepped on the moving yellow line, and took the tour to the Hall of Presidents. But when we violated robots rules of order: Don’t Crush that Dwarf, Hand Me Pliers we were all asked to leave the future immediately. Enough clowning around. Now that a hole has been dug deep enough for everybody to jump into it I’m off to see the Gypsy Fortuneteller. So squeeze the wheeze all you want because it no longer hurts me. But I never lose sight of the highest of peaks even from down here in this hole with all of us Bozos. Honk. Honk.
Creature
Straddle
↹
It started with a fever
Fifty years ago or so
Raged at a fevers pitch
Seared to an embers core
An extended fever dream
A fiery consuming ditch
Dug through my epoch seam
As years passed unseen
Gave way to nightly sweats
Low grade daylight fever flight
Fancies flooded daylight hours
Then one day not so long ago
Half century fever broke
Shattered what was within
Shattered all that was without
Leaving only dreams of night
Displayed for none to see
To straddle my flâneur days
A gentleman of leisure
If you please
Sleeping in many days
Baby sleep and fever free
↹
Spilled Thrills
♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩
When everybody
Becomes a thrill seeker then
Nobody is thrilled
Nothing special Nothing gained
Cheap thrills Cause the thrill is gone
♩♪♩♬ ♬♩♪♩
Scamper Splatter
I confirm
Parts of my life
Deliver mementos
That make me squirm
From toxic
Moments
I affirm
Motions
Choices
Of a term
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□
Never fear
Pitter patter
Scamper splatter
Motion smear
To be clear
Those pounding
Footsteps you hear
A running dive
To self immersing
That pays the fare
■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□
Causing a row
Sloshing basin
Filled to the brim
With what I sow
Paraffin bathing
Coated shiney
Head to toe
Emerging bow
With crystal clean
Purest of pure
Dripping now
Askew
Clocks askew as I
No matter how hard I try
With money to buy
Seem to steal on a whim
All my daylight savings time
Carve
👻
Slice away hollow all hallows disguise of fear
Where pumpkins grin
While humanity plans sin
Tricks and treats all beat their feet
Through urbane humanities urban street
Foolish fantastical ways of thinking
Gunna get them something sweet to eat
Still the strong eat the meat
While the meek all retreat
Carve through realties flimsy costume veneer
👻
Guzintas and Gozoutas
ᕦ༼ ~ •́ ₒ •̀ ~ ༽ᕤ
I find myself living in the cosmic combo platter of prompts that feed directly up the flapdoodle flagpole that is my stream of consciousness. Trying to make sense of the chaos that is the firehose of information of all flavors while sorting through what may be plausible as opposed to implausible makes me realize that my inputs are like this mess of cables on this utility pole flowing with flapdoodle opinions to the internets while becoming the material basis for many immaterial opinions posing as expository ejaculations of noisy nonsense, twaddle, and other wu wu waste management emissaries that are well outside my immediate sphere of influence. Now that I have expunged my flapdoodle foliage into the stream I will devour a heaping helping of flapjacks with a good portion of thick syrupy material on top.
ᕦ༼ ~ •́ ₒ •̀ ~ ༽ᕤ
