Random Poems Written At Journal Time [my favorite part of the day]

I Hope Many Are Offended By This

A mockingbird pooped
just above Poe,
perched on Pallas
Athena's head.
Poe in the form
of a raven—
Pallas Athena in
the form of God—
both fall into
the Big Black Nothing.
Alice in Wonderland
falling through time.
I would fall.
I would "suck
the marrow out
of life"
and that's
not what
she said,
that's what
I said.



Who Are You? What Are You? Where Are You? When Are You? Why Are You?

I am 231-77-4554.
I am conglomerates of matter.
Question. Why. Answer. None.

I am hieroglyphic
M, A's, R, I, and H
arranged in a certain order.
Just like e-l-e-p-h-a-n-t
and a-m-e-r-i-c-a-n and
f-u-c-k.

I am on our arrangement
called E-a-r-t-h in another
arrangement called
M-i-l-k-y W-a-y.
Question. Why. Answer. None.

I won't make up stories
for the unknown. I won't
be the Modoc Tribe. People
don't fuck bears. I won't
comfort myself with fables.
I am stupid for this.

I do exist, but
"I Am Nowhere And It's Now."
"We Are Nowhere And It's Now."


[don't worry. that's not my real SS#.]


They Asked Me What Animal I Would Be And I Said

I would be a red ant. I'd
build my own aggregate of
sand with blueprints—
constructive Howard
Roark designs. My
mound isn't Victorian
or from the Renaissance—
it would be an ikea mold
of bright purple and green
like moon to grass.
Red strength would carry
me from perpendicular
angle to double acutes
in day-to-day cycles—
sycophant in a collectivist
society, only stinging
when the need arises—
capitalist dreamworld.
We-ness would get old. My
brain will not sync to
others. I am free. I am
contradictory. I am vague.
I am [not] another brick
in the wall—
another micrograin
of ikea dirt.
This collectivism—
This life—
is not for me.
Extricate me—
Exculpate me—
"Quick, Henry, The Flit!"



[poetry needs no explanation. that's what makes it beautiful.]