2 poems
HOTDOG SWEATPANTS AFTERNOON
People are tired and waiting
The air is empty and shining
Like wrist hair in the afternoon
This poem is in sweatpants
in the afternoon
in the backyard
our dog is an unemployed
living pair of sweatpants
backstabbing the government.
Crazy, dreamy governments
overcome “crime”
or social welfare
what Fox News
calls the afterlife
of civilized society. But once i let down my long hours after life
ends i will rest and be buried in Kiss makeup and sweatpants
i want a limo-sized hearse carpool
and to be buried animal style at In or Out, it being in, death, in
the afternoon glinty-ass sun whose rays backstab
My SPF-5000 melanin neck in a hysterical yard
where wisteria bends. The porch is a certain kind of love, but the backyard is also
love’s afterlife.
About a memory of love that will never expect you
to be satiated. No there was no letdown. The hair was long as night and
afternoon was long and saturated with the memory of love that never backstab
-bed you down or let you up to ceilings
pending to be saturated no there was no
letdown. The hair was long, afternoon-saturated
The hair carpooled with the [edit memory after]
Afternoon
sucks, hot dogs are good,
white wine is fine, the word
“backyard” naps in sweatpants
well, i don’t believe in rest, in world, in the rest of the world, in afterlife
that is the rest of life, but i do believe
in six things: 1. after
noon 2. back
yard 3. back
stab 4. carpools
and 5. not finishing
what you are
set out to
[evening begins]
The evening was long and my hair thick.
Then, the hair was thin and in Arabic
hair means poem too.
Speed is hard, but life is easy. Where do I sleep?
The hair is long and covered with loose features
An established jazz system
What happens between colors?
Well, inside a nutcase
Only the heartbeat is shown
And indifference.
They say that god is in the blood
but jesus seems anemic. Your use of satiated has me
fucked up rn, you said, and i was taken by the line
break. There’s a crack in everything, Leonard
Cohen said, that is how the light gets in. i can’t see
the forest
for the porch picnic tables.
The afterlife of them is me
passing jasmine, that passes to the front door of
my backyard memories
that
Let down thr long hr.
Watch a movie, watch the moon now
Because the moon is a movie.
An absolute grave at sea.
What happens between colors
is mascara that is good it is
called poems
[ending redacted]
The ending was wrong, needless
i do not hate hot dogs
The breasts were the water
and the breasts walk the land the legs
spurn
hyacinths are not horses
the shower spurs the posing body
the water does not fall
like a lot of guillotines
Like a parking lot of guillotines
All of my emotions pool in my car.
Of Lily and Parrots for 52 hours in the horse power driven car
Imagine a hearse on a highway
Now imagine your naked self
Images are always nudes
Texts are always pillow talk
You take a photo of someone beautiful
to you you beautify and think of
keeping the story frozen in a lock
Look at all my memories
having only magnitude, not direction, weigh me not down, but 168 pounds.
What happens between colors
is some mascara that is good
it is green and orange that will never turn silent
It is like loving a black box
where when the plane goes down it opens i
don’t know what up. i
don’t know. Honestly i don’t know
THIS IS A POEM ABOUT THE JOKER AND LONGING
for another Batman movie that is not alone
in celebrating cops and beating the shit out of the otherwise healthy
mentally ill who get such small
social welfare benefits because these people
do not fit society’s image
ideal. i keep getting stoned and watching
The Dark Knight because Heath Ledger as
the Joker is so amazing and after every amazing
performance he has killed himself because of,
That’s the lore, and love is an allure. Look at star
wars: it sucks, but there is love and lore
is addictive, but it’s still bad drugs. Heath
Ledger says Did i ever tell you about these scars
several times in the movie, and then tells about
these scars, so the answer technically is yes, by
the second time you’ve told me of these scars, but
the story’s different every time. The scars always are
the same. Why so serious? Scars are just
lights whose source’s far away and prob’ly dead
by now, i.e. “Now” killed it. Atmosphere is
pressure. That is, if you think about it
and cannot stop but think about it, all the
Time asking questions of the viewer that can
not answer, cause that is what a witness is.
Enough definitions for today’s episode. This
Performance killed you, i think seeing his tongue
waggle out his mouth like a tapeworm trying
to jump out the window that’s the human
body, and the gut is the hearth where
the home is. Heath legerdemain. i thought
this was the end of definition. But then
Now killed my longing, time alone longing, broken healing
“heaven is small” image on the sign for the people
and their irises widened by the filter on their sun
glasses or an instagram’ed bouquet. It’s mother’s day.
A lot of people get their periods on mother’s day.
Heads you live and Tails you die says Two Face (I’m a Gemini) Now
you’re talking says the Joker. “Now you’re talking”
is a strange expression cause it retroactively nullifies the whole prior conversation. Four drinks
in i
can get interested in any conversation, like you i
-diot are suddenly my brother, because an
immediate vicinity is like a family, we have at least
briefly direct relation, and you can dance the can can
if you can
even stand. i wish i had a straw so crazy
solid i could play pool with it from this bar
seat, snorkel in that pool. Wild iris and a mild
virus. The ache dulls the ring tone’s efficacy. Didn’t
know i was calling? You should have put a ring on it.
The Joker thinks everyone is bad and so he is bad as an
exposé as a symbol of how
bad everybody is he will expose as if he is
a shutter speed. Batman shudders. “People are good”
ridiculous invalid-beating supercop with mammal ears and
moving human mouth says. Now we’re talking. In the end
Joker is proven wrong, proven right. Not exactly a spoiler
alert because i spoiled it already, and the spoiler ‘s an oiler
to make you wanna watch it
and add 5W30 to your stupid engine or whatever
Hearse Ledger drives. Green purple red god. Joker wins
new scars from Batman. It’s a cheap trick, a card trick.
It’s a cheap card trick, right, consolidation. J has B (Jim
Beam) pinned down on the floor of a high rise, head
dangling over air and says Have i ever told you how i
got these scars? No says B, but i know how you got
these, and stars
fly off B’s nylon metal-plated Skrillex suited
fore arm into J’s face and hurts his face or
something. But he did tell how he got his
scars. It’s measuring the distance between scars
which is traumatic parallax and the rhetorical
composition of these scars we know from
the baby giraffe that’s skinned for the new
skin in the old ceremony, old ceremony
being skin, being human, time suits
pain, the pain itself numbs the pain itself,
“itself” trampled underfoot the dumbest
places where there are no outer spaces.
Jared Joseph is boring.