Thanksgiving on the way
Another fake holiday
Yes I do feel this way
No I won’t do what you say
I am my own man baby
I was born this way, baby
I can rhyme and rhyme and be horrible
This poem is unoriginal, inconsiderate, and abominable
I took a stroll through the mid-afternoon streets of Miami
And found soulless eyes in cheap cars pass on by
Kerouac, Kerouac, Kerouac; All I want to do today is finish
A Kerouac book and get my life on with the rest of the library books(total 8 and counting, suckas) Bukowski and Willeford and Hemmingway, I just want to read and be left alone how many times must I spit this out before someone, anyone from the parallel dimension will grant me peace and serenity at this point; shit fuck cock piss goddamnit all to hell and back again, all right? Fuck.
Anyway I want to keep writing and reading and living and breathing and everything is looking up and the future is looking weird and the past is dead and done away with and does not matter anymore.
What was the point of all of this again?
I don’t remember
I don’t care
This poem comes out like a cough from a bronchitis patient
My teacher has bronchitis and a bunch of others are sick, too
It’s all odd as can be
I’m odd as can be can’t you see?
Life is a simple thing but we overcomplicate it
We do that to everything so why not
I just want to have a nice time with a great woman and I just want to work afterwards and live long enough to see everyone with a small modicum of happiness
Is that so wrong a dream?
Am I so wrong?
My porn hasn’t arrived yet
How long, O Lord, how long must I go on?
This is injustice to the twenty-fifth degree
10 bucks for four different videos and still nothing yet
So what if I pay for porn I like what I like
Plus it makes for interesting stories and what not.
Thanksgiving Day, waiting for porn;
Feels too cold and strange, like Santa Claus in the air,
Christmastime in Miami baby we were born this way.
Life goes on, but sooner or later my porn will arrive. Please.
Red Dawn on screen
Josh Peck is cool
Adrianne Palicki’s fine as hell(and has a nice ass, too.)
I sit here at this computer
With a truckload of books sitting around me
I need to go, go, GO
I feel the need to keep working
To keep walking
To keep talking
To go out and find something in this odd town
Texts are sent out and no one really responds
No one really cares
Kerouac is one of my companions on this long road
As much of a conservative asswipe as he could be
No one’s a saint, not even me.
I’m an evil man, with an evil plan,
To scribble my way into the history books
And make some money on the side, too
Maybe get some whores
Maybe donate it to the poor
Or I’ll just burn, burn, burn
Burn like great big roman candles in the night sky
Dying dying dying all the fucking time my friends
Yet is it a wonder to write rhymes and to live life and to be all right with that?
What’s wrong with living?
What’s wrong with loving?
What’s wrong with loving one’s self from time to time?
What’s wrong with feeling all right?
November 25, 2012
An alligator rushes by
Shiny razor teeth
Another Everglades day.
Gillian Anderson on-screen
Holy Holy Holy
Holiest of women alive.
Sleep deprived forevermore
On it goes
Muscles contract and hurt.
Peanut Butter sandwich
Library book daze
A buzzing fly now
Annoys me greatly
Am I wrong?
Kerouac I love
With no doubt
Hate fucking cirrhosis.
Coffee stays vein-wise
Life sizzles on.
Birds, bees, lambs, jams
I love poetry
And poetry loves me.
Beat Generation man
Never really existed
It’s all a crock.
Ex-girl hates me
Oh well, friends
I’ll live on.
Dipstick poetry vibe
Bored, Bored, YAS, Bored.
I like the sound of those words
I like sound
I like words
Words without meaning have no rhythm
Rhythm is what makes the world
It’s constant music if you’re listening
And maybe if your ears are clean
Music is life and I love it with all of my heart and soul
Nature is God’s music, if you believe in God
For me, nature and women and beauty and happiness and humor and intelligence
Are the measure of why it’s worth continuing to live on this blasted rock
Godliness is next to Goodness, and I see God in every person; every person is a God, to me at least
Every man’s an angel, every man’s a sinner;
We’re all hideous human angels, so why not stop being serious for once and just laugh and live and love each other and walk the cold cool night streets of Miami
And just live.
Is there something wrong with that wish?
Is it so wrong to just live?
November 27, 2012