Second Week’s Worth of Poems

November 7, 2012

A Wednesday, A Wednesday;
Nothing happens on a goddamn Wednesday.
Read and write and try to relax, and maybe consider the ramifications
Of doing this poetry gig.
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
No reason, just keep on doing it.
Selah.

November 8, 2012

Today is the day when Romney admitted he lost Florida
No shit
Really?
I’m surprised
Amazed
Flabbergasted
Hoodwinked
Bamboozled
And yeah, I’m just pulling stuff out of my ass(which tends to be a common theme throughout my poetry, that and pussy)
I like talking with authors like JJ Colagrande and David Beaty; they give me hope that you can make it, in some way, shape, or form

I want to go to FIU after all of this, and then on to Portland and any and every place on this spit of dust in the cosmos; I don’t want to be stuck, and I don’t want to feel tied down or shackled down by commitments to others or to a singular relationship or crap like that.

Let me be free and beautiful and lively and lovely, as I’ve probably said before;

Just let me be, and I think the world’ll be fine without another office drone.

November 9, 2012

Money Money Money
Money everywhere
Money doesn’t mean a damn thing
Money doesn’t even exist
Cash dollar values are full of bullshit
Can’t I go to a fucking movie without selling my soul?
16 bucks this a-way and 16 that a-way; where does it end?
When does it end?
It never ends
Money Money Money
Root of all soullessness
Evil and Good
Good and Evil
They all start with money and end with money and it doesn’t matter if you believe in it
Or if I don’t
Whatever
Time will float on by, and nothing makes sense and I’m tired of seeing my family go through trouble and to find out that Money Money Money is the root of it all
I’m tired and watching Skyfall and Looper and I’d rather be a secret fucking agent, shot in the shoulder, then to ever have to deal with Money ever again
Money Money Money is pure bullshit
Money Money Money is pure lies
Money Money Money…When Will You Die?

November 10, 2012

Old foes fade away
I’m happy again
And nothing can change that.

Try to write stories
No magic comes
I am tired of screen-staring.

Dwight Schrute online
And comedy fun
Can only help me out.

This poem doesn’t make sense
No poem does
And artists starve and jerk off, Huzzah.

I want to roll
With a girl
And just have a nice moment.

Is that too much
To ask for?
I guess it is, unfortunately.

November 11, 2012

An ode to O Cinema
Should be required from any artsy-fartsy type motherfucker
It’s a great place
Great films
Miami, surprisingly, has culture;
You wouldn’t think so, if you only hang around the people in usual hangouts
Am I alone in being annoyed by the very existence of Tumblr?
Fucking shit, so much corniness and clichés, it reminds me of an afterschool special
The same regurgitated lies about Love and Friendship and Society and Politics and son on and so forth it’s a wonder no one in the government destroys the website, for God’s nonexistent sake, please do something Obama or Romney or Reagan from the Fifth Dimension or Nixon spinning in his worthless grave, please and thank you

Now back on point,
I think we could all use a joint,
And I don’t even smoke
Looking at all of you, I want to do dope
And just die and be in my own heart and my own state of mind
But no one will leave me be and let me do it and women have me in a bind
Like a never-ending loop of false metaphors, bullshit similes, and silly symbolisms
Every literary magazine, student or otherwise, is full of it and useless, inadequate syllogisms

Fuck, I hate rhyming after awhile
It just wastes time when other things need to be done
Other poems and stories and jerk-off sessions have to occur, man
And I don’t have time for wonky bullshit
And yes I’m vulgar, I’m fine with that aspect
I don’t need to be told about it or to have a slap on the wrist and a disapproving look and shake of the head

Shit, no wonder most people don’t like poets.

Can you blame them?

If I saw a poet in front of me right now, I’d punch his lights out.

Although I do have an affinity, of sorts, for female poets(I just think they’re more talented than the usual lot)

Or maybe I’m thinking with my other head

Whatever. Nevermind.
How many times can I say Life Goes On before I start getting stagnant, fellow poets out there?
I just want to write, whether it’s fiction or nonfiction or journalism or poetry, I’d rather just do things my way, aka the Sid Vicious way, song-wise at least

I’m rambling, I know

Doesn’t matter, we’ll survive

A new cultural movement is sure on the way
Literature, film, music, art, anything and everything will come to the forefront
And it’ll all start in Miami(New York and San Francisco seem dead or in the sewers, for now at least)

Miami is the new frontier, and I’ll do my part to help support these artists

Anything less would be uncivilized.

Cazart.

November 12, 2012

Great days like this make me feel happy to be alive
Even happier I didn’t wait in line for Call of Duty
Happiest when hearing Mr. Daniel Handler aka “NOT” Lemony Snicket speak
And get his new book signed with some great laughs and what not.
Sometimes, you’re so alone that it just makes sense;
Today was one of those days. Amen.

November 13, 2012

Step off the boat
And find yourself straight on land
Never a right land or a right step
Just a bunch of missteps and false fronts
On and on we walk
On and on poets talk
So far so good and so good so far
Too good to last too far and it’s a done deal, let’s hit the bar
And forget the fact our ancestors are gone
And our bloodlines are odd, and we are done
Done with trying to make sense of Miami
Done with trying to make sense of The World
All that happens is this: Kill yourself for money
Kill yourself for booze
Kill yourself for men
Kill yourself for women
Kill yourself for a home that will be sold after you’re gone
Kill yourself for people that couldn’t give a fuck less about you
Kill yourself by voting for people who couldn’t give a shit less about you
Kill yourself
Kill yourself
KILL yourself
Kill YOURSELF
KILL YOURSELF
It’s as easy as that, mate.

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