the platitudes of willful resemblance

right works crazed with manic energy
and we stay up late for them
the good ones go young and unpublished
rest of all stick around trying to be young
and published
thoughtless notes running through the anus
and mouth crammed with exotic mysteriousness
our strange bearded father now dead of cancer
leaving nothing unpublished and us wanting

grand exit – stage left
and we bow

           
– I wrote this

literal or not
we bled on pages
and pages and
pages of uncertain poetry.
women bleed with efficiency.

dying roses are not
broken promises as
are crumbling petals
no longer red.

– I wrote this

ice-skating is like dancing on sheet metal.
my dog died seven years ago.
the best seers wear sunglasses when they sleep.
retired politicians go to work in the Vatican.
the tango seems expansive in hallways.
cell phones are the plague of modern man.

the automobile’s force will go on in a straight fashion,
          unless acted upon by another force;
or spoken to in a gentle manner.
it’s relative tho.
time is not linear unless man is.
evolution only acs as a barrier between
          father and son.
it must go on, and
most times that’s all it does.

 – I wrote this in 2008 while reflecting on time spent at an information center hidden behind a wall.