The Poetry Marathon

It fucking HURTS- turns the basic human condition into a scam -boiling frogs? The skin is sloughing off, emulsified into a half-conscious soup. Look – the emptiness all around, the gibberish in the phone – nothing makes sense by design.
the line

breaks

The noise became everything
every blip of data
blinding with devastating meaning
the voice of God
or maybe love
at the very least truths
They don’t want you to know

Even better,
there was a community on the case
but he never spoke much
words had trouble making sense
especially compared to this

Always under attack
an invisible enemy
both within and without
obscuring

But the decay all around him was no longer important.

They say he’s still at it
a body of work
decoding signals that aren’t there

At least the night comes
the air settles
the world cools
the fever breaks
mosquitos wake up for a quick little feast
but go dormant before the moths arrive
deer convene and discuss the day
possums- a certain genius in their own methodical way
critters, slower but more sensitive
flashing eyes, spotlights, reflecting a moon
that isn’t that far away

Braggadocio, heartbreak, ennui
waxing sentimental about a tree–
how many genres are there?
Inject an emotion-
proper pulse
meter and rhythm and rhyming and all that crap too probably
(for those who care)
A new artistic renaissance
– but more futurey and junk –
it’s on the horizon if you survive the war!
[LIKE] & [SUBSCRIBE]

A calloused brain, exhausted eyes
cracking fingers making tools
a few strange notions:
symptoms of interfacing will the grand
all-encompassing WHAT?
harder to do when we lost our view of the stars,
replaced now by car headlights,
heatless flame
pacing around cages
tenants in a zoo
with games and the few remaining books
but mostly pacing,
and fidgeting,
and wailing,
and staring in the mirror

I used to dream while awake
before it got too difficult, addictive,
the unreal demanding more of my energy,
time,
higher doses, more extreme,
with promises more empty than any drug.
sleeping is like a relapse –
with the danger that I prefer what isn’t
to what is

Another bullshit pop song
nothing it says is true
listening
searching for a clue

as I get old, my parents get old
and my dog, my friends, everyone I knew
and the sun gets hotter, then bigger,
then cold.

I’m not sure what I saw
but if someone has only ever lied to you
then “I love you” is a lie too.

Press refresh
it’ll be different this time
see something else- but
nothing too new –
cognitive continuity
cyclical design
managed expectations
dissonance is taboo

under control
comfortable decline
the only kind of reset
desperate to keep everything the same

🚀This is your last chance
Don’t miss out
Billions are joining
Find out why!
But hurry!
Build faster, smarter,
never harder,
and you have to do it now
you’ll never get this chance again
big red button
push, swipe, pull, claw
eat forever and never get full🥰

Cicadas scream and fuck and die
for weeks at the end of summer
in the air so thick the sky is just a suggestion
and vines choke the trees as if it’s the South
The soft breeze rustles leaves
as deep a green as they’ll be all year
and the flies take refuge inside

The world is beautiful
and everyday I pray for rain.