dimple pimple (2)

Happy boy
Sad boy
Super touchy-feely boy

Mad boy
Bad boy
Emotionally damaged boy

Rich boy
Poor boy
Confused about life boy

Nasty boy
Ugly boy
Hello it’s your boy toy

moody booty (2)

In the morning, I have to study
Some parts in life don’t change
Not that I want them to
It is a certainty that comforts me
Relieves me
Of those parts that did not happen in the way
I wished

Constant source of stress
Constant source of comfort
Constant source of ambiguity
Constant source of stress
Constant source of comfort
Where gratitude comes and goes
I find myself once again on a desert plain
Grasping for water when I am full
Because I anticipate that future date
When water is scarce
And my throat dies up in the sandy winds

I collect my surroundings
My iPad, and some back envelope calculations
These are things I have
I have things I did not have before
Where do these things come
Where do these things go
They are of this time in my life
This time of my life is here

I remember at this point last year
Things were for the most part settled
The tempest disintegrated into nothing
I was left with the remnants of a flooded house
And I thought that would be the
Last storm
For some time
But there is a storm to come
There always is
We have to prepare for this storm

I wonder if there ever will come a time
When there will be no more storms to come
No desert winds striking at my feet
Just the wisp of sunlight
Gently tapping the ground
Where I could pick it up
I wonder if that day will come

yonkus donkus

I stood at the edge of a precipice
I found myself looking in
From the inside, a wire of grooved spines
Lacerated the palms of my hands
I found myself dreaming
Wondering
Why the world was made the the way it was
Why malice exists
Why if you turn the corner you could die at any instant

I was thinking about the nature of the virus
How viruses aren’t alive
Like me
And how viruses exist to breed destruction
It isn’t like bacteria that exists to live on
The virus does not have a will — only instinct
And that instincts wants more than anything to destroy

I’d like to think the world is veering in a better direction
Like technological progress, the world seems to better itself
But like technological progress, the world burns at its own feet

The more you learn about the world, the sadder it seems
The more you believe that the world was not created
With altruistic intentions. It seems more likely
The world was made the way it is
It evolved
As have we all
Into the world it is today — and that beckons
Is the force of evolution a force of evil
Why is it the survival of the fittest?
What is fit and what is not fit?
Who dictated that the world become the way it is?

The world is a meritocracy, but why
Is meritocracy fair at all? To be given
What is given
To abandon what is not
The world moves forward in unison
Like the drumming of soldier’s boots
Like the rattling of chains in the wind
I found myself moving forward in a world
That stands still. It stands
So still

To move forward with life
To forget about the past
When merit proposes itself at your feet
Should you take it up by its offer?
Does accepting merit
Mean seeping into the evils of
this world? The evolutionary world
The meritocratic world
Where merit rules them all

Hunkered down by acceptance, all we can do
Is trudge on. Accepting the the way the world works
How merit dictates all
When we fall in this acceptance, is there a need
To challenge the way of the world?
To accept this unfairness is to have a good life
Is a good life worth having? A good life
is a virtuous life. A good life is full of merit
Where deserving people come to deserving
Conclusions. Merit is the way of the world
Evolution indicates those with merit will survive. What does
that mean for the rest? People without merit — what is
to be done with them?

Merit drips down our throats like black motor oil
To drink this oil is to accept merit
To not drink this oil is to die

How our own suffering helps us understand the
Need for merit. How our own suffering allows us to
Forget about why we suffered in the first place. How
Our own suffering tells us that the rest of the world
Exists around us. It does not show us a life worth living.
It shows the life we had. When faced with the life we had,
What else is to do but lead a life with merit?

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What is given
What is not
A basket of shrimp poppers tied in a knot
A motorcycle brigade on City Ave.
Trampling slow
Like pitter-patter of rain in a storm

Foggy day
From foggy nights
It is hard to get up tonight
A mug of tea
Is not enough
Caffeinated like a limp pool noodle

A string of floss
Spread thin
Like a layer of cream cheese
Licked clean
Like in elementary school
When ice cream was dip for chips

An airplane
Flies above
BLARGHHHHH
I drink my smoothie
BLARGHORGHAGHRHGH
Head rests so low
BLARGHHRGHAOAOAJSKHD

bollie

At the intersection of 40th and Locust, I found myself at
an intersection. It is the intersection of 40th and Locust.

Where have I found myself here before? Surely, I’ve seen it
in a dream. With grey signs in the night sky, cold mosquitos itching
at my skin, I took my hand out of my pocket and reached for
the sky.

It fell on my lap, like I could willed the fall of the sky. And here,
I was presented with the decision to control the sky.

I could let it fall, like it befell me, or I could lift it up, like Atlas
guiding me towards revenge. The choice was too tempting
to forget about the sky, but the sky stared starry-eyed
at my face. Even when I wasn’t looking, it continued to stare
at me like an antelope slurping up water from a lake.

I never saw the color of its pupils; I only saw the color
of clay. It is red, like loom, fruity like coffee from the tropics.

What keeps us alive? Is it the warm sensation of rain
dripping down our backs? Is it the locution reminding us
that we are surrounded by others, that eventually we would
find someone that makes takes the other out of another?

It seems so strange that the world was built this way. Another
color the world could have been was red.

I want a red world, but I found myself on a blue marble.

It hurts to watch the sky ask me for forgiveness, just as
it was to watch the sky exist at all. Why is the sky blue?
It would be so much easier to view it as a void. I prefer a
black space to a blue sky. It seems far more appropriate.
If the night sky was an absence of light, wouldn’t it
be more prettier,
be more precious
if it found itself another home?

beep boop bop boop

I ate 90% dark chocolate on a Wednesday night. It’s half way
through the week. My life is on stilts, tinkering
with the thermostat like an icicle dangling on the branch
of a tree. With five drips of powder, a keg of lime, I
poured myself a gin and tonic. I laugh at myself
because someone told me awhile ago they liked this drink.

I used to hate the sound of children laughing. It’s okay now
that I’ve gotten older. I used to hate the ice cream truck
as it strolled down the corner. It seemed so long ago I had
all of this irritation inside me with no where to
pour it
apart. I now find another way of holding it in.
It holds itself in like the carbon in a diamond.
It reinforces itself like cobwebs on steel.
It is this other life I have — the one I have now — where
my experiences in the past seem like a dream.

Just kidding — I still hate
ice cream trucks.

yinkus dinkus

Respectable visible tangible invisible
Disgusting flies that buzz around the sky
I held my hand out with honey dripping down
Wishing they would land to their demise

I found affection to have little lost
Draped over some water a little high
Whenever I think about the life that passed
I think about the turning point of do and die

I never treat coffee shops like I once before
The quaint vibes seems more toxic than dull
I find the acidity to be less appetizing
It seems so long ago coffee tasted good

I tripped over the sidewalk on my way over
I scraped my hands against the brick wall
At first there was a sensation of warmness
I realized it came from bacterial infection

The home that exists is not the one I had
The story that was written is not told then
I held the book of worries in my humbled hands
Teared page by page, thrown into muddied waters

I dip my feet into the puddle of sorrows
I sprinkle honey into a pool of tea
I bathe in hot waters meant for drinking
I consume myself in the mud of offspring

skrrt

My plastic bag curdles at the sight of wind
Like cicadas simping away in the night
They call so brightly yearning for the sun
Wanting to die quickly and getting some

The cracks in the concrete seem particularly bare
The grass between the fractures used to be rare
It’s like I drew the road on a piece of paper
Throwing it to the ground after I found a tear

Recursive screams and yellow tangerines
The color of post-its could be so like thunder
My eyes want to take a nap in the summer
My head wants to strain out all the clutter

Is a body pristine the only one worth keeping
What happens to the rest of the bodies discarded
Is a life undamaged the life worth living
What happens when life does not go the way intended

Phantasma patterns descending from trees
Astrological phenomena within earthy tones
Today, I found a rose collapsing in on itself
Tomorrow, I ripped the petals from the inside

vroom vroom

Sizzling skin in the air
Rectified
Burnt coffee ashes dusted into the ground
An ant comes up to claim its prize
Only to discover my bitterness inside

Frantic summer battles winter’s haze
Recall rocky rivers against rippling waters
It is a story like an apricot
From an old crock pot
I eat it up like butter

I recall the lunch I had at Renata’s
It seemed so long ago
It was also a misty day
Full of stillness and wonder
Tripping over the rails at Pine

Plucked a weed on my walk over
Threw it against the concrete road
The trees overhang look down on me
I have sacrificed one of its kind
Pity

I’ve been feeling so hollow lately
So bloated, like a peach without an inside
I flub around my childhood home
As a worm does on a rainy day
Before death