SOMEONE ASKED IF I WRITE POETRY

SOMEONE ASKED IF I WRITE POETRY

*Universality* towards generational anxiety therefore the way it all works is incorrect pertaining to the wondrous altogether sides in the entire sayings oratories threading towards the entire slating generational creating tragedy after tragedy each word is another word each word is another word each word Is another word each word is another word and after the words there isn’t really a thing saying that we can do anything creating a-new saving afresh generating generational tragedy.

*Fleeting* ambiguity context-less enormity where it has nothing to show for itself at all but another trading trade-off trading words for other words and other words for them and other them for words so can it all be creating the thing for which it was created to just get the ways flowing and traditionalize the myriad ways in which ordinary ambiguities converge to create accidental tragedies anomalous creatures traveling throughout the landscape so that they can all be in a way the ultimate ambiguity.

*Creation* creating saying knowing no-ing now knowledge can be transferred save for a banality of appearances keeping up emergency to emergency where they can all emerge and say this is the man who has saved god from his own malice and stupidity today we can all say with freedom and grace tomorrow we cannot hide the next day we do not know yesterday.

*It* was all defined you had a name and an address and a identity today it is all cold nobody heard nobody said nobody knew you haven’t died you haven’t been born you weren’t even there to begin with nothing can be more banal ordinary save for a fleeting begging sitting on the subway steps in this way an argument can be made claiming the way is to be found and claiming the directionless journey for itself, though thought thought itself to be through with thou the watery direction of the strong seeking the generalization of the week allowing strength to preserver

*Through* no fault of its own allegiance has been maligned amongst consistent traditions being that it could not save its own from betrayal it was thought to have betrayed itself thus nullifying itself and rendering all the worlds committed, the only one who know is hope’s lost child wandering through the desert with wonder and wander winder has it this is no way to be alive this is no way to be alive this is no way to be alive this is no way to be alive this is no way to be alive this is no way to be alive this is not a way.

*Crushing* funeral wreaths laid at the head of sorrow created the illusion it was dealing with something though legend has it was replaced by mercy killing its sister having undone beauty.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

 

I want to

Give you my thanks

do what you do with it

use it to praise yourself

humble yourself

accept yourself

think you are better than me

whatever

it’s all yours now.

Thanksgiving II

I want to

Give you my thanks

Take it and

cherish it

Let it blossom

in fertile souls

watch it give birth

to full bodied trees

in wisdom of eternity

treasure it as –

I forgot to leave any

For me.

Thanksgiving III

 

I want to

Give you my thanks

Take it and

pass it on

to somebody more hungry

someone more needy

use it to find

something left unthanked

something the thankers

and the thinkers and the thanked

had forgotten – they are all

full of it.

Thanksgiving IV

 

I want to

Give you my thanks

Take it and –

Yes, I said you

you the fairies and you the stars

you the oceans and you the clouds

you the angels and you the saints

you the dirt and you the grass

you the flowers and you the bees

you the simple and you the lost

take it to you

thank you.

Untitled

This game is too complicated to play.
and the rules cannot be counted.
Moving on the fly and changing by whim.
and money is not the answer.
Now we know we were playing at the wrong one,
and about the players we know nothing.
Words and principles try to stand out
and they block other permutations
Why would anyone keep score
and do tombstones allow scrabble pieces.

After

Aftermath
Afterlife
Afternoon
Afterparty

After the war
After making love
After the question
After the world

Here lies the body
Of creative wants
Interred reluctantly
By various needs.

Thoughts un-felt.
Feelings un-said.
Words un-thought.
Wants un-needed.

Six feet under
creative disintegration
springs imagination
on chaotic associations