poet-tree

Here’s one that JK found on Arcanumcafe, where I used to post quite a bit. This one is from about eight months ago, and I had written it merely as a comment. This seems like such a foreign time in my life - reading a lot of John Keel, getting evicted, brooding over a girl, etc.

parting makes the heart grow fonder
or fainter,

and in verbatim mad lib prophecy
you find
that time embarked on the path
of right now,

only,
before.

fingers out of navels, aside
i’m in a vegan straightedege house
untied to a woman, soaking in my
own self-pity scrotum
scratch

this part of town
much too industrial for close encounters
of the third
base kind.

the interstate 5 runs just a stones
throw form here, nibbling my ear,
wiring the power lines and talking
dirty so that i no longer worry
that some ultraterrestrial power
will come knocking my door,
wooing below my belt
(the dionysion whore).

I am urban and loving it
but wonder will the grinning man
with long fingers
chime in through the cell
phone
his heavenly harms way
beep beep beep

or,
what will i hear this year
eating easters
swinging jelly bean treats

since time invents
the things we need
and have been.

that is
has beens and
final pioneer goners,
spelling out our coda’s
written in cursive
with a bag of pure
cane sugar

“am i my brother’s keeper?”

said cain,
so listen
to my story of eviction,

i broke
back into my house through a

sliding
glass
door

i spent two weeks sleeping
on

someone
else’s
floor

the new tenants found me,
squatting in
the basement,
surrounded in bottles
of my own nostalgic piss -

and oh, what perfect bliss-

glory
to our heavenly father
the partridge in the pear tree
for i heard
that i made the landlords
cry:

and
who owns the plot
of land
in the place
that i
die?