The writings of Oddpoet

I like shiny things, I'm very superficial.

Will… the night…

Hide you?

Or

Reveal you?

For who you are



Will you always hide

In shad­ows?

Alone



A slith­er­ing hematologist

Lay­ing belly to sand?

Wouldst you deny truth?

Are you the apple that rises

When dropped to the floor?

The Tear

That climbs?

The bro­ken toy

Cry­ing for mend­ing?



Nay

You are none of that.

Yet you play your life

Like a trick shot in a cheap par­lor game

A used tis­sue in a coughs for­got­ten dream



You shine…



The night retreats

When you arrive.

Find your Dawn…

Lady…

My broth­ers hear the crash and break the door down… Absurdly, I men­tally curse Home Depot and their cheap fuck­ing doors. So there I am with a belt around my neck and the entire drop ceil­ing strewed about the room. I fuck­ing hate failed sui­cide attempts. I mean what can you say, “Whoops?” It’s like get­ting caught by your future ex-wife with your sweat pants draped about your ankles wax­ing your car­rot to the Fredrick’s of Hol­ly­wood web site. That has hap­pened to you, right? Please say yes.

I briefly won­der how woman mas­tur­bate. Prob­a­bly with envi­ron­men­tally friendly solar pow­ered dil­dos. I hate Women.

So my older Bro says, “Dick­weed, stick with drink­ing your­self to death, suits your style.” Gotta love my Brother.

So I decide to go out­side, which is a feat in itself because I haven’t left my room in about three months. I find most peo­ple bor­ing — I really hate rub­bing elbows with the fuck­ers. I leave the belt around my neck; I fig­ure maybe I can pass it off as some kind of new sar­to­r­ial style.

I see the mail­man and I was going to tell him to stop deliv­er­ing me mail, I don’t open the fuck­ers– what’s the point. But, I fig­ured he worked for the Post Office and there­fore was in his own pri­vate hell.

So I make it to the over­pass, beneath me is the New Jer­sey Turn­pike. I read some­where; it was one of the most trav­eled roads in the US. I watched the social insects whiz by. I dig the sound. The World is full of songs; you just have to know how to listen.

I notice the inward curv­ing fence and it pisses me off. (I’m always pissed) I mean it’s not like I can’t get some C4 and blow a whole in the sucker.

I know they are try­ing to stop jumpers. Not because they care about human life, they don’t want you fuck­ing with traf­fic. I once saw a jumper splat­tered like sea gull shit on the asphalt. Peo­ple were get­ting out of their cars and kick­ing the dead fucker say­ing shit like:

“I got a mas­sage in 30 min­utes I’m late because of you dead shit”

“I have a two hour win­dow to cheat on my hus­band and fuck Ted the insur­ance man”

And my per­sonal favorite:

“Some­one scrape this dead fucker off the road”

So I mosey down to the local Dot Head store. What’s his name is at the counter. Cool dude but he has far too many con­so­nants in his name. Hence “What’s his name?” Now, he has this pet Ana­conda who he loves, so I ask him if he has any new pic­tures and his eyes light up and says: “I’ll be right back.” He runs to the back room and I run to chest freezer where­upon I start stuff­ing frozen Ice cream sand­wiches down by pants and in my pock­ets. I love steal­ing shit and I love Ice cream sandwiches.

So he comes back and starts show­ing me the pic­tures of his pet snake and in the mean­time my balls are freez­ing from the frozen Ice Cream sand­wiches stuffed in there and let’s face it, who needs frozen balls.

I give him a fake smile and I split and start eat­ing my plun­der. Oh yea, then I went home.

So I am at the Had­don­field Speed line’s park­ing lot and this chick has my dick in her mouth. I’m wax­ing philo­soph­i­cal watch­ing the social insects scurry to their next task.

“I won­der what my future ex-wife is mak­ing for dinner.”

My future ex-girlfriend looks up with fawn­ing eyes and asks “How is it?”

I blurt out “Meatloaf!”

What?

“Don’t talk with your mouth full!”

I love that line when I’m get­ting a blowjob and I never miss an oppor­tu­nity to use it, much to the dis­may of the blower. It is a bad blowjob. There are two schools of thought on “The Blowjob” One states: “there is no such thing as a bad blowjob”, the other, is the dialec­tic antithe­sis of the first pos­tu­late, “There is! because I have been the recip­i­ent of far too many”

I won­der if it would be push­ing things if I left a “How too” Blowjob sex video on the front seat when she drops me off around the cor­ner from my future ex-house.

My mind wan­ders back to the tableau before me and I start count­ing the insects who are wear­ing sneaks. Footwear was never a big deal to me but when you’re get­ting a bad blowjob, well, Ya got to think of some­thing besides meatloaf.

So I have a pop­u­la­tion sam­ple of about 200 insects and a 45% sneaker wear­ing rate with a stan­dard devi­a­tion of about .5.

“Moan”… “Moan”

Oh yea, I’m drop­ping a few well placed moans for the chick’s ego stroke. You can never tell a chick that she gives bad blowjobs; in fact you can never tell a chick any­thing neg­a­tive because they take that shit per­sonal. A babe can tell a man he sucks at eat­ing pussy and the dude could care less. Okay, he might say: “Wash that stench pit and maybe then I could take off my res­pi­ra­tor and actu­ally eat it Bitch!” But that would be it. He’ll go back to count­ing sneak­ers or think­ing of meat­loaf, whatever.

Now if you tell a chick that shit she would plot your emo­tional destruc­tion. Chicks are the Han­ni­bal Lecters of emo­tional manip­u­la­tion and ulti­mate mind fuck. Yea, you’re pretty well doomed when you piss a chick off.

She comes up for air and I could tell she was about to say some­thing stu­pid like: “I love you”

I don’t give her the chance.

I push her head back down on my rod: “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Back to the sneak­ers, I think I’m on to some­thing, I’m pretty sure I’m close to a Uni­ver­sal Truth. Uni­ver­sal Truths have been fuck­ing with my head ever since I was a kid. I can never nail the suckers.

I’m always danc­ing around the edges.

She gets up and smiles… I smile back. I won­der if our smiles are real smiles. I won­der if I am danc­ing around another Uni­ver­sal Truth.

“Have to get home babe, I have to cook for my future ex-Husband and my gay son is home from school.”

She starts her car and holds my hand dur­ing the short trip. She is squeez­ing my hand like a tea bag try­ing to get as much of my essence as she can.

“Call me Babe!”

I promised I would.

As I get out of her car an old lady shakes her head.

She knows I’m sling­ing dick.

I notice how disheveled the cor­ner prop­erty is since the pre­vi­ous owner got busted for insur­ance fraud.

I turn the cor­ner and my future old lady is walk­ing my future ex-dog argu­ing with my future ex-Son

Some­thing about beer money.

She sees me.

Her smile is a dis­guised wince; she knows I’m sling­ing dick too.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Meat­loaf “I blurt out.

I walk up my future ex-driveway,

I’m pretty sure there is a Uni­ver­sal Truth here; I’m always danc­ing around the edges.

As the bright Suns of sum­mer fade

And the incan­des­cent greens of sweet Silvan

Fade to brown

Sil­van retreats



The trees yawn

Prepar­ing for sleep

Release their children

Mother breeze envelopes them

In sigh­ing heartache

And caress them in majes­tic dance

To the for­est floor

“Hush my children

Sleep the sleep of death”



The win­ter of my life approaches

The chill of approach­ing mortality

Grips my Soul

I no longer hold on to yesterday

I dis­miss it fondly

Telling mem­o­ries to roam free

And seek suc­cor from dreams



The Soul fights

But years never lie

“But what of Love?

Was it only the Poet’s song?

Was it only a dream?”



Lady Death approaches

And embraces me

In cold warmth

“Hush Child”

“Time to take another journey”

“Your wars are over”

“Hush now”

“Hush”

It was a rick­ety old thing…

The train that is…

Filled with busted dreams

And

Salty tears

And face­less people

Who no longer cared



There were not many there to see me off

Just a few…

They begged me not to leave

Where was I going

I had no idea

I was just going

Who can answer such questions

Their tears were touching

As If they knew

I was never com­ing back



Take directions

No point in that

I never fol­low them

Go right

I go left

Besides

No mat­ter which way you go

You always arrive at your des­ti­na­tion



Look­ing back

I won­der if I had a choice

If I could have changed anything

Might as well try to change

The color of your eyes

The way you laugh

Or

Will the rain away



I arrived

It was a cold place

The Sun sel­dom shone here

Twi­light the best you could hope for

There were no flowers

Just twisted green things

Reach­ing out

Towards an invis­i­ble savior

In that struggle

They were beau­ti­ful



There is much beauty here

A daunt­ing will to survive

Which per­me­ates all life



A dour moon

Which paint all in glim­mer­ing ice crys­tals



An inces­sant breeze

That orches­trates

A heartrend­ing dance



A Landscape

Hewed from Earth’s tired bones

Stabs out at the night

Pro­claim­ing In painful epitaph

“I am Alive“



But here…

There be Demons

A group demon­strat­ing in front of the United Nations protest­ing the geno­cide in Dar­fur was set upon today by a group of angry New York shop­pers eager to get into the Christ­mas spirit.  Dis­grun­tled bar­gain hunter Christina Spencer angrily said, “I’m sick of this shit, Wal Mart  has a two hour spe­cial half priced sale which I will miss because of these pathetic fucks…  It’s Christ­mas for Christ’s sake. Hey we all have prob­lems, this year alone I spent two thou­sand dol­lars on lit­tle Susie’s bal­let lessons.”  To empha­size her peeve she kicked a young Dar­furian Child in the head crack­ing it’s skull like a fuck­ing eggplant.

Pen­ta­gon offi­cials announced they fucked up again in their eight year pur­suit of 911 mas­ter­mind Osama Bin Laden.  Award win­ning jour­nal­ist Odd­poet revealed that Bid laden was not in North Waziris­tan but actu­ally work­ing as an ani­ma­tor for the Walt Dis­ney Com­pany.  When pressed Pen­ta­gon big­wig Gates admit­ted that Bin Laden pen­chant for chang­ing one let­ter in his named befud­dled the Pentagon’s brain thrust.  The plug wear­ing Gates said, “It’s really not our fault we were look­ing for Osama Bin Laden and he was work­ing as Osama Ban Laden, You have to admire him, he is a crafty son of a bitch.”  The pen­ta­gon wun­derkind went on to state that he believed Bin Laden had out­side assis­tance and prob­a­bly four or five for­eign nations were involved in the nefar­i­ous scheme.  He urged all Amer­i­cans to remain sus­pi­cious and terrified.

Sci­en­tist announced they had noth­ing really to announce.  They did say the quest of cures for chil­dren leukemia, can­cer, aids, global warm­ing were con­tin­u­ing at a snail’s pace.  “But on the bright side we dis­cov­ered after inten­sive research that when you rip a lab rat’s ears off they make a really cool screech­ing sound.”

A group rep­re­sent­ing the “Real hor­ror writ­ers of Amer­ica” urged a boy­cott of the phony Vam­pire movie “New Moon”  It’s an out­rage, you have 13 year old chicks fin­ger­ing their sludge pods over some cute vam­pire who don’t even suck blood.  What the fuck?  He pre­dicted dire con­se­quences on the con­tin­ued fag­i­fi­ca­tion of Amer­i­can youths.  “Let’s face it a vam­pire is sup­pose to tear your throat out and they never fuck, sheeze”

The National Orga­ni­za­tion of Woman’s news con­fer­ence announc­ing the group’s leg­isla­tive ini­tia­tives urg­ing the “cas­tra­tion of all males” was dis­rupted by the icon­o­clas­tic Odd­poet.  While over­turn­ing tables and toss­ing dil­dos at the “les­bian fucks”, Odd­poet announced his own agenda. He planned to “cold­cock any chick who pisses him off” to demon­strate He turned and dropped a female reporter who got too close.  In the mêlée that fol­lowed Odd­poet was remon­strated by an asso­ci­ated who screamed, “she was not a les­bian Odd­poet, she was a pretty cool nympho­ma­niac who would fuck any man who looked her way or bought her a cup of cof­fee.” the never remorse­ful bard said, “Fuck the bitch, they’re all dykes in train­ing”   As he was being led away to a wait­ing police wagon he urged all les­bians to con­tinue mak­ing “Dyke flicks”, and that “he was still a sucker for girls going down on each other.”

In related news, Odd­poet planned to pub­lish from prison his con­tro­ver­sial annual Yule­tide extrav­a­ganza, “very cool sui­cide let­ters.” The gang raped devi­ate stated that he had the “utmost respect for any­one who up and offed them­selves.” The Amer­i­can Busi­ness alliance rejected the post and urged any­one in the depths of despair to hold off on killing them­selves till after the hol­i­days.  That “the con­sumer dri­ven Amer­i­can econ­omy needed every present bought and paid for by afore­men­tioned ema­ci­ated Amer­i­can poverty stricken con­sumer, It’s no time to be selfish”

And every word of it is true…

I AM SKIN STRETCHED TAUNT

I AM EVERYTHING AND NOTHING

BLOOD, GUTS, BONE, SINEW

AM I MORE THAN THE SUM OF MY PARTS?



I AM ENERGY’S SWIRLING DANCE OF ELECTRONS

I AM THE SCIENTIST’S CONFUSION

TO UNDERSTAND

THE UNDEFINABLE

WHAT CONTAINS ME?



MY EMOTIONS SEETHE.

A MAELSTROM OF NEVER FORGOTTEN DESPAIR

ROOTED LIKE CORAL

SURROUNDED BY TURQUOISE MEMORY

TRAILING TO AND FRO TOWARDS MYSTERIOUS LOVE

DESIRE’S MISTRESS, COLD HEARTED AND FAIR

ALABASTER

STONE

TASTELESS



I AM KINDLING

MATCHLESS,

CONSPIRING DRY

READY TO ERUPT INTO MAJESTIC DANCING TONGUES OF FLAME



I AM THE BLANK SLATE.

AN ARTISTS HUMBLING YEARNING TO BECOME



I AM DEVOTION TO RITUAL

I PLAY OUT IN ENDLESS SCREAMS OF FRUSTRATED CONSTRUCTS



DEATH WHO DO YOU SEEK?

IF NOT ME



I AM THE VAGABOND

HOMELESS

BEREFT OF KINSHIP

WHAT I EAT OTHERS HAVE NO NEED FOR

NO CHARITY

SIMPLE EXCESS



I AM THE BLADE OF GRASS

THE LENGTH OF MY LIFE

DETERMINED BY THE TILT OF THE EARTH

AND THE PARCHNESS OF THE SOIL



I AM THE MISFIT

NO DESTINY

NO FATE

MERELY A CONFLUENCE OF UNRELATED EVENTS

A MUTATED STRAND OF DNA

REPLICATING

BECOMING

ME



DEATH SMILES AND OPENS IT’S ARMS

HE SMILES PLEASANTLY

OLD FRIEND

WE SHALL MEET SOON

I GOT NOTHING BUT TIME

I DO NOT FEAR THEE, REAPER

AM I DIFFERENT THEN THE FALLEN LEAVES THAT FEEDS THE TREE?

OR THE CARCASS THAT THE LION DEVOURS?

SUCH A SMALL PRICE



I AM ILLUSION. YOU CAN NOT SEE ME

I AM THE CHILD READING HESS, CAMUS, FREUD AND DOSTOEVSKY

SEEKING TRUTH

NEVER FINDING



I AM ODIN’S THUNDERBOLT, HERCULES STRENGTH, THOR’S HAMMER AND DIONYSUS LAMENT

I AM THE CASTRO’S BALLS

ROLLING…

TOWARDS CHANGE AND REVOLUTION



I AM THE FORGOTTEN POEMS OF LOVE

I AM BEAUTY NO ONE WILL SEE OR HEAR

LONELIER IS THE WORLD WITHOUT ME



HOPELESS REFRAIN

FEEL WHAT I FEEL

SUCH HURT

SUCH PAIN



I AM A MISTRESS’S BEAUTY

LUST SO PURE

LEAVING HEART’S BROKEN

TEARS

AND PAIN



I AM THE ONE EYED JANUS

I SEE THE PAST

NO FUTURE

NOTHING

BUT DARKNESS



I SEEK MY SOUL

THERE MUST BE MORE TO THIS…

AM I BUT WORM FOOD?

OR A WEAVE IN THE UNIVERSAL CLOTH.



I AM INFINITELY FINITE

I AM LOVE’S LAMENT

I AM GUTS AND BLOOD

COVERED BY SKIN

STRETCHED SO TAUNT.

WAS I THE LAMB WHO STRAYED FROM THE FOLD?

WITH BLEEDING HEART BEATING SYNCOPATED RHAPSODY

BLIND TO THE TENEMENT CITADEL THAT LIES

WITHIN YOUR FALSE HEART!

CALLING SEX’S’ DESIRE,

YOUR LEGS FLY OPEN LIKE SCREEN DOOR SUMMER!

YOUR MUTATED DNA LAYING CONGEALED AND FERMENTING TOWARDS PATHLESS FUTURE.

WHILE YOU’RE MOANING FORGED PASSION!



CAN HE HEAR YOU?



AM I LAZARUS FRESHLY RISEN

ONLY TO BE SLAUGHTERED ANEW EACH DAY?

PELTING ROCKS AND UNCHIVALROUS ARROWS STRIKING MY FACELESS BACK?

FALLEN HEROES RISING FROM ANCIENT BATTLEFIELDS CRYING HAVOC AND ATTACK!…ATTACK!…ATTACK…!

AM I COMPELLED TO BECOME ODIN’S SPEAR, VISHNU’S POWER AND ACHILLES WRATH?

DO FORCE MY TREAD UPON THAT PATH!



WILL I METASTIZE MALINGNAT CANCERS SCREAMING MY MORTALITY?

WILL THE SAME WIND THAT CHILLS MY SOUL TOUCH EVERY ONE AS FATALLY?

WILL I EVER BE PART OF SOMETHING GREATER THAN I CAN EVER BE?

ROOTLESS AND ALONE AS DECADENT SUMMER’S STORM TOSSED TREE?

IN DARKNESS SO BLACK NO LIGHT CAN PIERCE NOR EYE CAN SEE.

WILL THE LOCKED DOOR OF WISDOM DENIED, FOREVER BETRAY ME



DO THE DANCING PLANET’S CONFORM TO KEPLER’S LAWS

OR ON A WHIM.

AM I FOREVER CONSIGNED TO PARADISE LOST AND ORIGINAL SIN…

I kicked the Jester’s man­tle aside

It balled up

In a corner

I almost laughed

At it’s lone­li­ness.



Make me laugh!

Sorry not tonight

Got no time for smile

The clock be tick­ing



I slid through the sul­try sum­mer night

Naked

All bull­shit

Packed, pack­aged and labeled

In alpha­bet­i­cal order

Of course

That be Tomorrow’s game



Tonight

I stare at the stars

And will them brighter.

I feel the life of grass

Against my back

As it envelopes me

Makes love to me

Who could want a bet­ter lover



Crick­ets sing

Fire­flies flash cryp­tic code

In the light starved night

I know

They speak the eternal

The lan­guage of Poets and Lovers

Saints and Sinners

Mad­men

Mur­der­ers

Gods

Dev­ils

Tonight

There will be only tears and awe.

Tonight

There will be magic



Will you take my hand?

Please

No words

Tonight

We sim­ply

Be

A

Part

Of this divine tapestry

Human­ity threw a party
And I was invited
A Suit told me
“Come to the cen­ter”
“With all the pretty peo­ple”
His capped bleached smile
Screamed lies
“Sorry, gonna stroll on the edge dude”
“No rea­son to go out there”
“You’ll only be back”
“Pack a lunch Mother Fucker…Pack a lunch…”



I strolled out of the Cen­ter
That hub of con­tent­ment
Joy
Usury
Can­ni­bal­is­tic Rape
“Have a sand­wich”
They scream
As they died cig­a­rettes
Out
on
Chil­dren with­out
Bank accounts.



They sawed the legs off a child
‘The poor make excel­lent stew meat”
Their rapa­cious smiles
Made me Vomit
nto
A majes­tic steak Tatar
I has­tened to swipe
Chunks
Of my essence
Away
The fat rich bitch
Played
Gob­ble
Gob­ble
As she ate what I ate
Before I
Regurgitate…..d
Her smile
Impos­si­bly
Wide
“Can some­one be?”
“That happy?”



I left the cen­ter
And entered the con­tented cir­cle
A vast sea
Of human­ity
Who nei­ther
Laughed
Nor
Cried
Lived
Or
Died
They sim­ply
Were
Mar­i­onettes
Attached
To steel cables
Whose every move
Des­tined
For con­trol
I shud­dered
Moved on



I swam that vast sea
To the
Edge
Where I
Belong

An ema­ci­ated AIDS patient
Too weak too talk
Whose cheap card­board sign
Bled vow­els and con­so­nants
“Kiss me before I die!”
I don’t roll that way
But
Some­thing bout the way
The e in die
Trailed with res­ig­na­tion
And hope
Sug­gest­ing
Greater things.



Our lips met
Tongues
Danced
I heard Cas­tratos
Singing
Impos­si­ble music
As Lud­wig, Amadeus and Wim
Pounded mad­ness
Into sweet sound.
Cajol­ing our essence
Into
Sharps and flats
The black and white keys
Singing our pain and joy.

Our lips parted
One drop of spit­tle
Length­ened
And
Refused to
Sep­a­rate
Only to dis­in­te­grate
Curs­ing
The dis­tance
Between us

There will
Always
Be
Dis­tance
Between
Us



I was on the edge
At home
With
Pain
And
Tears



I wept
and
Smiled.
I
Lived