Turn Off, Tune Out, Live On (& On Again)

Do Not Be Alarmed.

This poem has no ending

Boasting is not pretty.

This poem does not connect

Digital listening is limited.

Being of Analog,

anything less

is unsatisfying

even when it sounds Amazing

there’s still something missing

and i notice

and i miss it.

it’s missing.

i long.

This poem makes no sense.

Do Not Be Alarmed.

God is Bored.

This poem holds some truths

Some truths still hurt.

i still love more than i am loved

This poem shall continue.

i wish i could select to forget.

Distance does not always make the heart grow fonder.

Distance often alienates, in my experience.

i do not need to diminish My Ego.

i need to Embrace the God in Me.

I do this.

This poem is true.

Do Not Be Alarmed.

the previous was just too hateful.

I can’t flow with that.

Don’t wanna ingest that poison.

Inhale that toxin.

Spread that evil.

Self-check Speak too vaguely

jump to conclusions…

having no context,

yet responding

from limited perspective

introducing negativity 

Rather than merely banish vile energies from my space,

I must further not invoke them.

Self-check continued.

This poem is gospel

Do Not Be Alarmed.

If your idea of “sexy music”

is inspired by that film where that centerfold

becomes house mother

you need to get f—ed right.

This poem is like that.

Though I’ve been hungry

I’ve never known hunger

Yes. I am blessed.

Yet, I know want.

Feel need.

Sometimes I’m blind.

Sometimes, I’m beautifully stupid.

I am grateful for this

lack of lost innocence.

I dream of my dead

Lives taken too soon for taste

Presumed in pain

Some suicides simply relieve exhaustion

escape from tedium

I understand

Selfishly angry

at their selfishness

“how could you leave me like this?”

I understand.

Do Not Be Alarmed.

This poem is selfish, too.

has no ending.

shall continue.

Sometimes a Life without challenge

is too much to bear

This poem shall write itself.

popular with truckers

why is walgreens open at 2:19 am?

why is walgreens, of all places, selling ammunition?

fast food wrappers

In this part of suburbia

a cab picked him up at 9:41 a.m.

The World will write this poem.

Do Not Be Alarmed.