The Poetry Marathon

the red red link
tomato sink
helping hand
orangutan

Row row rowing
down the sidewalk
of this neighborhood
entangling

Stranger strangers coming,
drumming, singing
running to Lincoln
Nebraska

Tornadoes have warnings
blaring and warning
turn away warning
Run to your basements warnings

Go strangle
a green triangle
poking up the way
away from the hay

where you could kick it
wick, feather
or air mat
slap

Slope up to the sky
with no alibi
today is not exciting
with the holes closed up

Wake up
three for two sicks one
mean doggie
combustible saliva spatter

Wipe your face
it coats the eyes
blink blink blink
cauterize

All it was
some vacation lies
silly tomato fries
big surprise.

Relativistic perpetuation
running rampant
engulfing the turf

Portending catastrophe,
there is a loud crack,
booming from behind

The water cascades in,
cacophony complete
a thunderous rumbling underneath

From the wall’s collapse,
there is no return.
Run

There is nothing left
behind
ahead is full of dread.

Bound on,
adrenal excitement
boiling over into reality.

The water is cool and calm
gently rolling out the colors
sunshine and clouds
turn on the night.

Warmth is slipping away
into the sky
away from here
like a fire dying down.

The cool blue daycolor has been
pushed out
overruled by brilliance,
red and yellow.

Green is creeping in closer
Violet’s dancing on the horizon
and I feel warmer now
invigorated.

Laboriously, the ascent began anew.
Trudging along after another disappointment,
another slip
trip, miss
collapse

One day, maybe
it won’t be raining and Sisyphus
can try again,
try
and not do

The insanity is building now
you can see it on his face, in the
bulge
of those
beady eyes

Sweating, slipping, and sliding
back down again, another night gone.
The sun
rises
As do you.

Impressive, ironically, a story
of perseverance and fervor,
just
one
problem

Sysiphus was the name of a spider.

To be in
a tornado really begs the question what
the hell is privilege?

A human thing maybe… No
the simple thing about living longer
and having people you love and having
comfort is you still have to
die.

#262 from Book Third of The Gay Science, Friedrich Neitzsche

Stalking, insidious.
Walking, meticulous. Crouch.
Cheetah getting hungry, and ready.
Gazelles look delicious.

The last one started to go
It was too late, slow, dull.
Quite surprising, that
those older gazelles sure can run.

What a match, met and set
No way to ever know what would happen but
it started snarling
running

mouth agape,
tearing at the screaming,
salival and dreaming,
sweat and the bleeding.

It was only a young one but my how it ate.
Such a sight can only exist outside of time
out of mind, muddled memory
but the picture is crisp and clear:

Murder happened here.

I got it on film.

Time inefficient
Reads regularly
at intervaled moments
Totality engulfing the seas
and reckoning yells
often perpetuated
by the wells
Reading

Meadowless fleet
Wrapped about in rapt perception
Towardinating the origins
onto trusses and bushels
The orbs are dropped
Fallen out of basket weavers’
hands.
Today is the manipulation
Today the soldiers are soiling their toil

Trepidation is rampant now
that the streets have torn open.
Tomorrow is no longer a mystery
there’s a boiling underground,
the soil is foul and
our meteors shower.
Today I have none left,
not less than the rest.
Now I knew this
or know this
did see this
or sow this…

Just a shitty old field with logs in it
I guess people wanted to park there
it certainly was no park.
Old telephone poles littered about.
Never paid much attention to it.

New parking lot
New train stop
New lamp posts
New asphalt
perfect.

I started going there to skateboard
to hang out
roll around
jump and
fall.

I’d ride my bike to this haven
empty except for the cars
quiet except for the city
the train
occasionally oozing commuters.

This was where I went
that day I was upset
young emotions overwhelming
the cigarette I stole from my stupid uncle
terrible and freeing

My bike was down
I was fuming
on an island
then I floated
about twenty feet above

I looked down
a leaf floating and careening
carefree
empty and confused
that’s my body?

I just wanted to escape
and what a place to go
the atmosphere
above the emptiness
the flaccid firmness of reality.

Fleeting
but what an experience
to be
above and beyond
my tumultuous brain.

Memorable        toilet                recriminations
Flowering          rectangular      ministries
Rippling and      dribbling          through time
Yes                     to the day        with a fork
Memorable rectangular dribbling with a fork.

Flowering          rectangular      ministries
Rippling and      dribbling          through time
Yes                     to the day        with a fork
Memorable        toilet                recriminations
Flowering dribbling to the day recriminations.

Rippling and      dribbling          through time
Yes                     to the day        with a fork
Memorable        toilet                recriminations
Flowering          rectangular      ministries
Rippling and to the day toilet ministries.

Yes                     to the day       with a fork
Memorable        toilet               recriminations
Flowering          rectangular     ministries
Rippling and      dribbling         through time
Yes toilet rectangular through time.

Silence.
Finally.
 
I am open now, and empty
desolate, desiccated
and free from the meat bags.
 
It took them long enough
despite the hunger
the heat and the thunder.
 
Cold now,
freezing and blistery
I don’t have to worry about burning up inside.
 
There’s no more rage in here,
no more sadness and
no more laughter.
 
Peaceful.
Simple.
 
I certainly intend to continue
dragging the wind and
collecting the wets.
 
There’s coyotes in here
their cackle brutal;
you can smell the thrill of the hunt.
 
Scampering occasionally
I really don’t mind
it’s not constant.
 
I’ve been here for decades
but what does that even mean
to an old house.
 
I just wish I could see
those mountains.