Entertainment

Thieves

Thieves are liars who resent the truth,

Selfish people,

Though perhaps they love,

A gang, a clan, a coterie,

And all of them know Jesus,

Just like honest people

Who buy guns and hunt for fags.

Sartre said that selfishness has charm.

Why must babies grow up to be people?

1-24-14

He told me I'm a paranoid

He told me I'm a paranoid

Which means I'm mediocre.

And everything I love is garbage

To the USA.

Sopranos will not break and leap.

Perhaps they are not able.

And poetry is just a game

That anyone can play.

1-24-14

 

Hate

All that keeps me going

Is to know how much I hate them,

And thinking they are going to burn in hell.

I don't believe in hell, not ever,

Since I was a child.

But god I hope I'm wrong.

I hope there is one.

I was crying as I thought this

Walking in the door.

To write it down is better.

There's no one I can tell.

Let me die.

Just let the cats die first.

1-24-14

 

The Haters

“No haters here,”

They like to say.

It seems they do not know

They're the reason

Other people hate.

1-24-14

 

The Trial

Someone crooked took my butt to court

For libel. Every word I wrote occurred.

It happened 37 years ago.

My evidence was in my memory.

“Ass!” she laughed. “You're going down again.

No one thinks psychologists say that.”

“Prove that you are innocent,” I said.

“Prove that I am guilty,” she replied.

She was right. I couldn't make a case.

I spoke. The jury laughed. She only smiled.

And then I took a gun out of my pocket

And shot her head off. This must be the Rapture.

Then before they grabbed me, aimed the gun

At myself. And now she is in hell.

9-19-12

 

Info

Try to get a loan and see

The dirt they've got on you.

Did you ever change your name?
They've got the info too.

They don't know why you did it, and

There's nothing you can do.

Go to buy a gun,

Whether 22 or splatter.

Start to say your name. You'll find

It really doesn't matter.

1-24-14

Fancy

Staring down a corridor

That ends where I began,

I see things I saw before.

I dip the rusted pan

In the water. Is there ore,

Some grains of gold I can

Gather into poesy

And put upon a frame,

Drawn from someone's history

Who doesn't have name?

1-24-14

Keats & Shostakovitch

Shaped from the gristle of my bones

I write my poesy,

Just as Shostakovitch would have.

Only history.

Junkets was a simple sort,

Flowers in a brake.

“Lamia” - a paradox -

He could have wed a snake.

The poetry is negligible,

And the plot absurd.

That was Keats forever,

The water and the word.

1-25-14

 

Entertainment

They're talking to communicate.

What is grammar for?

But poetry is just a game,

A wall without a door.

To entertain with thoughts and sense,

But never to convey.

This is madness! It's the man

Without a thing to say.

1-24-14