RAW ASS POETRY

#14 Poetry. Under-edited

There was a boy who was made of rubber.. I've always felt disconnected. not a human but a reproduction. my body doesn't always work.

man, thirty six

four more to power through

the wonders of hormonal tap water

otters and twinkies

oil and vinigars in small bottles

places I don't go:

midwest vortex

tires on fire in treehouses

children eating their teacher's pet.

U A O 's

there she goes, the portal to endless possibilities and of course, bills

I'm too old to be doing this

that's ok, severely spectrumed

under 50, check your rectum, for tumors

I'd rather smoke cigarettes than eat that fast food poison. Don't try to change me please

is hoisin Chinese?

Thai food is better

curry up and eat while air is still free.

my companion, while invisible, is my ideal lover: her name is Linda foot

I do know what true love is

my one true love was and still is my beautiful Parson Russell: Lucy; RIP

to this day I hold her in family photos. my arms cradling air. she taught me what it's like to love unconditionally. Her love was pure and we read each other's minds.

I knew I was an alcoholic when I was eight.

hot-take:

this is in fact poetry

quit trying to justify your degree

you don't impress me

I've tried suave and while it's a bit cheaper than degree, I prefer the latter.

all-knowing

frollicing blackened roots sniffing pasted-on cells. rocketing, swimming through, spaciousness. radiating lifesource burned to death. olfactory factory lime in line sleeping. burnt off cilia. gloved hands handle falling spermacidal maniacs, just as well. pumping fists on the boardwalk. slice of pie, hi. splinters chase the last shadow off the walk. city flock of coywolves. I was actually able to bend it all. mycelium knows everything. the ceiling sprays norovirus everywhere. my nasal hair is aware. cellulose and aspirin from one source. what if they are thinking what we are thinking over on the other side. what's inside? is the universe an outie? not Audi.

wordplay is like assplay only dirtier.

necrosis is worrisome if you’re a live thing. splayed and played but not a cardboard box. they live in a tent in the cold making peanut butter and jelly between coital. fun fact: They smoke long cigarettes on a sidewalk in Chicago. their homeless are in need of bed or bench. secondly: they require more food and fun things to do. thirdly: let’s make drugs safe again. I'm all about it. I saw an old friend(now enemy) sit at a picnic table drinking from a large plastic bottle of strong clear liquid. the day or week before, I noticed they made another video two years prior before his prior. wobbling through the snow talking like the natives, and then a pirate. He found an island not far from where he stood. a wooden island at that! They also said she fell in love after discovering the Joys of meth-induced sex. DiD you know you can get a prescription for literal meth? I guess it's not as bad as the government says. the bootleg bathtub shit is full of impurities I'm quite positive but it must vary in quality as all drugs do and all products on the market.

and then he said he is not guilty of domestic violence. I don't believe him on account of his raucously deviant nature.

the other guy is in prison still. can you believe it? I think he murdered someone or broke into some place nude and said something horrible.

they want more beds and more entertainment for the unhoused and I concur. little green capsules for everyone and all a good plight.

Inevitably broken

Scattered

Resurfaced images on a floppy in a closet

Photograph wedged between pages

Everyone deserves a chance at romance

We are all unique and I appreciate that

Spiral staircase leading to stone wall

Man in a booth retires soon

There's a tower on a smooth river stone suspended. You or I live there. Yet, we don't. oh, the memories. Saltyzesty faulty spring, Salem fresh. Witch reminds me of the cauldron with limitless bottoms. Destitute, innumerable digits, unless, parfum leads you or me into the fire.

Spiderwebs and toolsheds unite

I have faith.

My mind works in peculiar ways

Electric digital visceral guttural gyro lamb melted styro Canadian curds and spiders no less

Redundancy splendor aluminum hologram toolbox shoots through lands on the desolate plot of bare concrete

The memo scratched into the sky

Where will I fly?

Where to land, hmmm. I haven't quite figured it out.

The most primitive place on Earth

Take me there and show yourself

Not your plaster of paris

Not your shadow box

I don’t want to see your dull reflection

Or your digital faceplate

Your holographic, pornographic, helium-fueled only fan BAM! WHACK! SPLAT!

ZOOM, it's right outside

The mall is falling apart. Fix it.