Posts Tagged ‘universal truths’

Lord of the Sky

Monday, June 20th, 2011

Lord of the Sky

Meant to Bleed

Monday, November 8th, 2010

All my fault
I wanted to belong
To be a part of it
Always peer­ing through that gate
That fence
That cage
That caul

So they gave me
The white pills
And the tan pills
The big pills
and cute lit­tle foot­balls
All very sci­en­tific
Stamped and approved
By the FDA

Would they change me?
Would I no longer be
Who I am?
They laugh at me
Ain’t that the point
You stu­pid mother fucker!

I took em
I hear them Yippie-yi-yo-ki-yaying
Through by blood­stream
like kids on a water slide
But when they get to my brain
Oh they get seri­ous
I can hear the clang of ham­mers
And dron­ing sounds of drills
And the rum­ble of heavy machin­ery
Earth movers and cranes
A mech­a­nized symphony

And they don’t change me
They don’t change any­thing
Numb me for an hour or two
Bout it.

You can never fix a bro­ken mir­ror
or read a book
With miss­ing pages
Mute peo­ple can’t talk
And the deaf can’t hear
Some things are just meant
To be bro­ken
cracked and imper­fect
Some things are just meant
To bleed

So I can never have their love
or their joy
or their beauty
their con­tent­ments
their smiles

I don’t under­stand them
And they’ll never under­stand me
Noth­ing wrong with that
Just the way it is
Some things are just meant to be bro­ken
Some things are just meant to bleed.

Of God, Gods, Toothpaste and Deodorants

Thursday, November 4th, 2010

Ever go to the super­mar­ket to buy tooth­paste and you’re con­fronted with about 100 choices? If you’re like me it’s like, “What the fuck! why you doing this to me?” I hate mak­ing deci­sions. And don’t get me started on deodorants.

Deities are like that, you got thou­sand of choices and they’ve been around longer than tooth­paste or deodor­ants. Ya got your monothe­ists, poly­the­ist, ya got Gods as celes­tial objects, nature, inan­i­mate objects, Shit, Native Amer­i­cans believed in a giant tur­tle, no shit and ya won­der why they lost all their land? Their God was much too slow to help them and by the time the fucker got it’s head out of it’s shell their land was gone. Poof. Never pick a Turtle.

Gods have been around since we col­lect­edly real­ized we were all pretty much fucked in this world. So If bad things hap­pened our God(s) was pissed so we had to please him by gath­er­ing lau­rel leaves, sac­ri­fic­ing goats, vir­gins, our kids what­ever as long as we didn’t have to sac­ri­fice our­selves. We are indeed a self­ish lot. But it gave us the delu­sion of input or con­trol into why we are always get­ting fucked over. It gave us a process for input or influ­ence into Real­ity which is basi­cally the ran­dom­ness inher­ent in our exis­tence. This process is reli­gion, a struc­tured means to influ­ence our God(s) of choice regard­less of how bizarre that process might be.

This write is a sorta like a movie review. I will rate who I con­sider the coolest, mean­est and most dyna­mite God(s) to choose from so you don’t have to think too much I mean who likes to think, right? Soo…

The list is far too long so I’m gonna get rid of a few thou­sand with some basic rules I think we all can agree on.

I’m highly sus­pi­cious of any Reli­gion less than 1500 years old they go right in the hop­per. Let’s face it if your God was asleep for most of recorded Human his­tory and decided to show up say in 1830 as he appar­ently did to Joseph Smith;well he ain’t much of a God, or he has some kind of sleep dis­or­der. Savvy? So the Church of Lat­ter day Saints or Mor­mon God goes bye bye. Same goes for the Jeho­vah Wit­nesses which were founded in 1852, not only will I shit can their God but I urge the imme­di­ate exe­cu­tion of all it’s mem­bers. Who can argue with that?

All the “ticism’s” such as Zoroas­tri­an­ism or Mys­ti­cism or Asceti­cism while they’ve been around a long time. I just don’t like the sound of their names, too fuck­ing long And if I don’t like the name of your reli­gion then they get shit canned also.

All the east­ern reli­gions such as Hin­duism, Bud­dhism, Tao­ism go out the win­dow sim­ply because I have no idea what the fuck they are talk­ing about. Nir­vana? what the fuck is that? Ain’t it a band? Besides the dick­heads I see in Amer­ica who think they’re cool because they walk around say­ing Namaste get on my nerves. Those reli­gions require shit like med­i­ta­tion, spir­i­tu­al­ism, con­cern for all life forms and as an Amer­i­can I have no time for that shit.

The Roman Gods? Fuck them too. They are Ital­ians and I hate Ital­ians besides the Romans never had an orig­i­nal thought in their lives, check it out. They stole the Greek Gods basi­cally word for word they change their names to plan­ets, Aphrodite became Venus, Zeus became Jupiter. So fuck the gin­nies and their Gods.

Now the meat and pota­toes.
Greek Gods were hands down the coolest Gods out there. I believe the forced retire­ment of all the Greek Gods from the deity pan­theon the great­est spir­i­tual tragedy in our lives. Take Zeus, all he wanted to do was get laid, no shit his whole God­hood was involved with get­ting Pussy. He even fucked his sis­ter. And the shit he did for pussy was astound­ing dis­guis­ing him­self as a bull, a bird. Now I thought I was inven­tive in get­ting laid Zeus was… well a God at it. And they were petty, revenge­ful, self­ish, mean, self cen­tered. Just like us. Yea, I miss Olympus.

The Nordic Gods ya know Odin, Thor, Loki they scare the shit outta me them fuck­ers just wanted to fight, maim and kill. They never had time for fuck­ing cause they were fight­ing all the time. Yea, Asgard was one large keg party that got out of hand. But they do have some cool stories.

Now the Monothe­is­tic heavy­weights.
Judaism which is old tes­ta­ment God. Well as pricks go the Jew­ish God was a real prick. That fucker killed peo­ple for fun, flooded the earth, destroyed cities. Yah­weh had absolutely no sense of humor. Not sure if he ever did one kind thing, I’m seri­ous, it was like he was con­stantly con­sti­pated and took it out on mankind. The Jew­ish God was a para­noid fuck always test­ing peo­ple to see if they loved him. He even fucked over Moses. Got news for you Jew God you’re a real Cock­sucker and nobody loves you! And for you Jews out there you can think what ya want but maybe he’s not com­ing back it’s been at least 3000 years per­haps it’s time to take that extra serv­ing of din­ner­ware off the table.

Islam, they barely make the cut mak­ing its first appear­ance to some towel head in the sixth cen­tury A.D.. These dudes are bor­der­line east­ern reli­gion and I’m not sure what the fuck they’re talk­ing about either. They took the old and new tes­ta­ment did a quick rewrite and told the world, “Hey, we found a new God!” Really? Where was he hid­ing? In the desert? Hey if I was a God that’s where I would hide, no scenery, no water, per­fect. Islam and Chris­tian­ity share a com­mon bond, they have the most fucked up rad­i­cal fol­low­ers of any reli­gion. And you can’t fuck with their reli­gion either they get all prissy about it. Which of course requires me to say, fuck you Islam and fuck you Mohammed. You’re noth­ing more than an expan­sion team!

Finally Chris­tian­ity
My incul­cated faith. Chris­tian­ity has a real iden­tity crises cause you got Catholics, Epis­co­palians, Luther­ans, Methodist. It’s like make up your fuck­ing minds will ya? Chris­tian­ity is one big mind fuck no one knows what they believe in. It’s all new tes­ta­ment about this cat named Jesus. Now Jesus was a pretty cool guy he threw some nasty fish and wine par­ties and the shit never ran out. The trou­ble with Jesus as a deity is that he really got fucked over in the end. And deep down inside every Chris­t­ian won­ders, “Wow, if God did that to his son what the fuck is he going to do to me?”

As reli­gions go Chris­tian­ity is a log­i­cal night­mare and all the chris­t­ian writ­ers really had to do some cre­ative writ­ing to explain Chris­tian­ity. “Jesus was God, no I mean the Son of God, no I mean a part of the Holy Trin­ity, and we drink his blood and eat his body at mass” No we’re not can­ni­bals it’s like, eh… sym­bolic” and “Who the fuck made up that Vir­gin birth story? How the fuck do we explain that!” “ Yea Chris­t­ian writ­ers are top notch they have to be.

Well there you have it my place in hell once again firmly estab­lished. Now I hear you “What do you believe in Odd?” I have a strange way of think­ing and I come at “God” kinda back­wards. Cause I know evil exists, I see it, it’s real and it’s a spir­i­tual entity that is here on earth right now. So there has to be a good or a God so to speak cause if there wasn’t we would have killed each other long ago. Now don’t ya hate when I’m serious?

Respect­fully sub­mit­ted,
The Odd­est of Poets

Children: a sociological perspective (The Role of Children in today’s social milieu)

Sunday, October 17th, 2010

Chil­dren: a soci­o­log­i­cal per­spec­tive (The Role of Chil­dren in today’s social milieu)

As many of my avid and often rabid read­ers know I am an “ist” mean­ing, of course, I am any­thing end­ing in “Ist”. Allow me to don my Soci­ol­o­gist cap and explore today’s topic. Children.

Let’s jump to it, okay? I fuck­ing hate kids! There I said it. I can hear the entire con­glom­er­a­tion of Women’s group’s vibra­tors drop­ping to the floor in one large thud. Kids are the sacred cows in our soci­ety, no one really cares about them, but Women’s groups use them like The­seus used the Gorgon’s head to slay the Kraken. Yea, the bitches use them to gain eco­nomic advan­tage, to wit, child sup­port, hous­ing priv­i­leges, wel­fare pay­outs, free med­ical care… The list is end­less.
Hav­ing sup­plied man jism to women’s vir­ginas on numer­ous occa­sions I have man­u­fac­tured at least two of the lit­tle douche bags. Both my kids are bright, flawed and Psy­chotic, kind of like their father. Let’s exam­ine my bio­log­i­cal constructs:

Christo­pher Leo Mount: That lit­tle fucker owes me at least $40,000.00. Stole my car, money, basi­cally any­thing he could get his hands on. I really fuck­ing hate him but I must admit to hav­ing a grudg­ing respect for him. He is a thief of bib­li­cal pro­por­tions. The fucker makes Al Capone look like a bully steal­ing school­yard nick­els. He rou­tinely uses stolen social secu­rity num­bers to gen­er­ate credit cards. The fucker actu­ally ran his own employ­ment ser­vice at his last job, no shit; the trou­ble was the com­pany didn’t know about it, yea, he was charg­ing peo­ple to work there. Chris has balls the size of Jupiter.

Edward A Mount: My name­sake. What a mis­take he was, Eddie is a walk­ing adver­tise­ment for con­dom use. How­ever, he scares the shit out of me, no lie. I’m still pay­ing child sup­port for him and he is 75 years old. As a child I became con­cerned when he would bring home dead and muti­lated ani­mals. I remem­ber saying,

Now Eddie it’s really not appro­pri­ate to tear the legs off ham­sters and watch them run around in cir­cles.”
“Why not daddy?”
Well he had me there.

He actu­ally recre­ated the cru­ci­fix­ion of Jesus using Ger­bils, Ham­sters, and the neighbor’s pet dachs­hund who had the mis­for­tune of play­ing Jesus. I found the poor lit­tle pooch nailed to a makeshift cross with Ger­bils and Ham­sters play­ing Roman sol­diers. I’ll never for­get the look in the dachshund’s eyes just before he was speared by overzeal­ous Ger­bils; it was like, “Yo, do some­thing about your kid will ya!”

Admit­tedly I should have insti­tu­tion­al­ized him but I fig­ured as long as he was killing ani­mals I was some­what safe while sleep­ing. Yes, I am selfish.

Now, what can we do with our kids? Here is a lit­tle fac­toid for you par­ents out there. Despite tak­ing them to Church, Soc­cer, Boy Scouts and the plethora of chil­dren activ­i­ties your kids have a 3% chance of turn­ing out some­what decent. And those idiot par­ents out there who think their kid is going to be the next Linus Paul­ing kill your­self will ya. The sta­tis­tics are in and your kid has a 97% prob­a­bil­ity of being a douche bag.

So what do we do with them?
1. Elim­i­nate Child Labor laws. The gooks have the right idea put them to work in fac­to­ries. They don’t eat much and if they give you any lip you can eas­ily kick the shit out of them. And if they die? Who cares, fuck and have another, they are eas­ily replaced, a build in replen­ish­ing nat­ural resource. Why we haven’t done this already is a mys­tery to me.
2. Why we put good men, who should be in bars drink­ing and get­ting shit­faced, into mines is a crime. Let’s use the kids to do all our min­ing oper­a­tions. They are small, agile and have a bet­ter chance of crawl­ing out of cave-ins. And if they die? See above.
3. This one is for the sport­ing enthu­si­asts out there. Let’s hunt them. What hunter can resist the idea of hunt­ing a four year old girl in the woods? Imag­ine the thrill of your 30 odd six with a cry­ing, bab­bling lit­tle child in your sights? You know you fuck­ers should be pay­ing me for this!
4. Let’s farm them for body parts. If you get sick go to the kid farm and use one their organs for any require­ment.
5. If all else fails let’s eat the lit­tle fuck­ers, we have starv­ing men and women who don’t real­ize they have per­fectly edi­ble food in their homes.

Well there you have it; once again I have cut through the manure of Polit­i­cal cor­rect­ness, and solved another soci­o­log­i­cal prob­lem. I bid you all adieu; I must take my leave as I have vol­un­teered to babysit the neighbor’s kid

Oh Timmy… I have a sur­prise for you…”

Pro­fes­sor Odd Poet

(The above is an excerpt from a schol­arly Tome sub­mit­ted to the New Eng­land Jour­nal of Soci­o­log­i­cal Research)

On Obsession and the Big C

Friday, June 25th, 2010

So bout a month ago I was feel­ing Bla. Ever feel Bla? it sucks, so I decided to work out. Now I’m thin and obses­sive and when I work out, well…

So I’m pretty ripped right now but you’ll never see it. I’m not like one of those fags on the Space who show off their six packs, I do it for myself and… Okay, the chick next door I hate when you fuck­ers force me to tell the truth. Now I had this skin thingy I thought was Pso­ri­a­sis so I’m ripped and I have my shirt off but only for the Sun to cure my Pso­ri­a­sis thingy and the chick next door. Right?

Now I reclaim­ing my broth­ers yard that has been lost to Nature. I’m cut­ting trees, shrubs and I almost decap­i­tated the Mail­man who made the mis­take of stand­ing still under a tree I had my eye on. Now the more ripped I get the more the young chick next door waters her tomato plants, no shit! Funny as hell. I wanna tell her “your plants need snorkels.” I just smile and say “Hello” cause I’m on a mis­sion and Rama of the jun­gle will not be denied. So I finally have the yard back and I get a call from the Der­ma­tol­o­gist who took a skin sam­ple a week ago for analy­sis. Turns out it’s Cancer.

I could give a fuck but I never miss an oppor­tu­nity to fuck with peo­ple, Doc­tors, Judges, lawyers don’t mat­ter. And the only rea­son I’m still alive is I’m wait­ing for Con­gress to pass that “Kick the fuck out of your Ex-wife day” Has any­one heard any­thing on that? Let me know if you hear any­thing. So she says it’s can­cer­ous and I say,

How did you know Doc? My birth­day is the 20th of July and I am indeed a Cancer.”

No, No Ed, the test showed Can­cer.” Con­cern ooz­ing through her voice.

Of course it did Doc, did ya think it would show up Taurus?”

Pause…

She starts laugh­ing cause she knows me a bit and she tells me It’s not a real big deal we just might have to “cut your balls off to arrest it.”

Doc, you fuck­ing with me? Never play around with a man’s balls Doc, unless it’s in the bedroom.”

By the way what’s it called Doc?”

It’s Thoma­lue­cy­tyey­our­fuckedato­sis”

I know stu­pid ques­tion, for some rea­son I heard Julie Andrews singing “Super­cal­ifrag­ilous Expialidocious”

But she assures me “just take these pills and don’t get pregnant.”

What­ever Doc”

Now I can’t go out in the Sun too much and I hope the chicks tomato plants don’t die cause of it.

So I go to the Kitchen, now I’m a mus­cu­lar ver­sion of Martha Stew­art, my obses­sive nature is to clean cause my Broth­ers don’t do it. They insist on a cur­sory wash­ing of the dishes despite that stain­less steel thingy I bought back in the day when I had cash: called a dish­washer. I don’t have the heart to tell them when they turn their backs the shits right in the dish­washer. Now to appease them I put a nice clean towel on the “clean” counter where they can lay the washed soon to be washed again dishes. Right? Now I also wash stuff like large Tup­per­ware and pots which I lay on the “Clean” towel to air dry.

Pretty sim­ple con­cept, ya think? Nope, the “clean” towel is often host to my Broth­ers mak­ing piz­zas on it, bot­tles of ketchup and pick­les. Which, of course, defeats that whole clean towel thingy. I can’t say any­thing cause I’m an indi­gent, obsessive-compulsive, mus­cu­lar, Martha Stew­art wannabe with Can­cer. But I want to scream, “Do you Fuck­ers make bologna sand­wiches on your pil­lows? WHAT THE FUCK!”

Oh well, I’m about done with the out­side work, repaired con­crete steps, repaired fence, painted parts of the house, edged the lawn, fucked Mother Nature up and told the bitch to “back the fuck off! Poet is here now Mutha Fucker”

Gotta turn my atten­tion to the inside of the house, what a fuck­ing mess. The first ten times I cleaned the toi­lets I donned a Tyvek suit with live air. Well I am an Obsessive-Compulsive, mus­cu­lar ver­sion of a Martha Stew­art wanna-be, soon to be respon­si­ble for dehy­drated tomato plants Poet with Cancer.

What­ever…

Hole ~Para/Oddpoet Collab~

Monday, June 21st, 2010

The hole is get­ting emp­tier
As the faces fade
Into the shad­ows of the walls.
The faces never smiled any­way…
Just stared inward
With vacant eyes
Col­lect­ing data.

Invis­i­ble ten­ta­cles
Push away the sky
Demonic hoards work grav­ity machines
And archaic machin­ery
Fueled by lust and burn­ing souls
Faces replaced by black hearts
Not deign­ing to beat
Fly­ing Iri­des­cent insects wing­less
Fall
Deeper Into the chasm

The insa­tiable void
Devours screams into silence
Just below the slow lurch­ing rhythm
Of organic cogs plead­ing
For release…
Plead­ing to the supreme mus­cle
That will never cease.

The mech­a­nisms of the hole
Have all become vis­i­ble.
Each mask of flesh
And tis­sue has dis­solved…
The pre­tense of all human issues
Has been resolved
With the clar­ity of a sin­gle glance
Inward–
Into the eye of raw pri­mor­dial reality.

Eerie calm
Amidst the howl­ing silence
Essence dis­tilled
Gran­u­lated
Await­ing deploy­ment
Shape Shift­ing shad­ows
With wands made of clouds
And aban­doned bones
Pre­pare incan­ta­tions
Ecto­plas­mic scripts float upward
Nucleotides seek­ing union amidst the pul­sat­ing mass
The Hole pre­pares for birth

All pos­si­ble data
Has been col­lected
The embryo
Weath­ered by caus­tic evil
Inten­tion­ally unpro­tected
Emits a siren’s blar­ing cry
Of liv­ing…
Of liv­ing…
The ini­tial sign
Of human life unforgiving.

Blood Write

Saturday, April 24th, 2010

I’m sick of it all
Flow­ery verse
Cheap prose
Shal­low mean­der­ings
Play­ing with my cock
Blow­ing loads on paper
Say­ing Van Gogh was here
It all runs together
Like mag­goty meat in the trough
Feed­ing the mass man­nequin market

I’m the Poet
With my head up my ass
Exam­in­ing
My colon
My intestines
Report­ing to the world
Some­thing
Ain’t quite right in me ville

I need poetry that bleeds
That makes me uncom­fort­able
That has an edge
That cuts me
If I get too close

Poetry
That grabs me by the throat
And tells me
YOU GONNA DIE MOTHER FUCKER!

Dan­ger­ous poetry
Poetry that guts me
That is banned in schools
Poetry you can’t read
In polite com­pany
Poetry that gets me arrested
Sent to prison
That will rape me with broom han­dles
Flay my skin
Till there there is noth­ing
But the words

Poetry that rages
Assaults me
Rips the pil­low out of my hand
That drags me from under the bed
That tells me
YOU CAN’T HIDE MOTHER FUCKER

Poetry that speaks of love
Not in rhymed cou­plets
Nor wist­ful sighs
But shakes the fab­ric of time
Shat­ters the foun­da­tion of the Earth
Causes the Plan­ets
To break free of their orbit
Stops the heart
With its pain and loss
Poetry that changes me for­ever
That allows me to finally live
If only for a second

I need poetry
That I can’t read
But only feel
Ink inter­min­gled
With blood
With tears
With shit and piss
With sweat
That vibrates off the page
And becomes the North Star

I need Poetry that bleeds
I need Poetry
That
Fuck­ing
Bleeds

The End ~Para/Oddpoet Collab~

Tuesday, February 16th, 2010

The end rests
Lan­guid and del­i­cate
A sin­gle dan­de­lion seed
Estranged from the puff
Blown by rebel­lion
Or per­haps just nature’s course
To impreg­nate the ground
With more sun­shiny weeds



The end
It rests on my fer­tile mind
I cry for the clouds to unleash
A tor­ren­tial wrath
Imbed the seed to grow roots
But my mind remains arid
The wind stirs lightly
The dan­de­lion seed rests
Lan­guid and del­i­cate



Moments fused with hours
And time crashed
Against the shore of sen­tience
Vague­ness flashes
Thoughts whirl
Run away
Laugh­ing
Chal­leng­ing
The mote in God’s eye



The begin­ning…
I became…
Chaos fled
Fused Tachyons
Blazed
Scream­ing through the newly birthed light
I become many things
A par­ti­cle in the pri­mor­dial soup
A sin­gle cell
Need­ing mem­ory
To fill the void
Fus­ing
While incom­ple­tion raged
Become…Become…
The voice insis­tent
Demand­ing
Pulling pain
Out of beau­ties ori­fices



The end drained
The pla­centa of birth
Claw­ing for release
Upon the pure sands
Untouched by mankind
Fer­tile soil washed away
From neces­sity
Unnat­ural in the wail­ing cry
To be…
Accepted into the region
Unfit for any king or queen



Weeds grew
Bold and erect
Sup­ping upon the light
And dew as sweat upon the brow
Nature grew unpromised
And auda­cious in peel­ing the lids
From eyes refus­ing to see
The puff–
Blood­ied and alive–
There beyond obsti­nacy
In the face
Of time
In all its abhor­rence…



Then…
The music appeared
At first shy and unsteady
Yet insis­tent…
Demand­ing all take part
All share the essence of their being
Unique instru­ments… unique voices
In that choir all liv­ing things took their places
Like notes fused to alabaster parch­ment



The seed which was now more than a seed
More than what it ever could be
On its own moved to a strange grandeur
A feel­ing, a cer­tainty
That it was eter­nal
That its voice was needed
In that con­stel­la­tion of sound



The music would not stop
Could not stop
It held all things to its cadence

The music played…
And all life danced and swayed
To its rhythm



And it was…



Beau­ti­ful…


The Poet

Monday, February 15th, 2010

Sirens sing the song of death
While rental cops lay cones down
Restrict­ing traf­fic



They have come for me.



I am the Poet
The truth
My words are carved in the flesh of inno­cence
Scrawled in cheap uri­nals
Chis­eled in the faded gray paint of shit holes
Of lonely tomor­rows
I dry the tears of the hope­less
Scream with the home­less
I sing truth that hum­bles Gods
I am Prometheus, Sisy­phus



I cut the throat of pompous laugh­ter
And kill its first born
I eat the soul of dread­ful nor­malcy
I walk the edge and con­versed with mad­men
My words rever­ber­ate in trash strewed alleys
My tread echoed in the halls of jails and men­tal insti­tu­tions
Shared secrets with bro­ken soul­less junkies



I am truths
That freeze men’s souls
And the lies they swear by
The burn­ing blade cut­ting teth­ered souls
Illu­mi­nat­ing light­en­ing



I am the Devi­ate fondling sacred sex­u­al­ity
The ser­ial killer cov­ered in Blood
Suck­ing life from vic­tims
With last breath curs­ing God
Whim­per­ing
“Why me?”



I am the throne­less king
The voice­less trou­ba­dour
The song no one will sing
I am the invis­i­ble chill
That fon­dles your spine
I am dis­com­fort
The night­mare
The book no one will read
I am words no want wants to hear
I am …


I climbed a tree

Thursday, February 4th, 2010

I climbed a tree.

Think­ing

I could see something

New

Some­thing no one has ever seen.

Before

Scraped

Bleed­ing

Sway­ing



Pre­car­i­ous death

Peers through arched eyebrow

Non com­mit­tal

Death don’t give a fuck

We all on his to do list.



I climbed a tree

And saw

The deadly same

The pierc­ing wail of conformity

The heart rend­ing cry
of the incom­plete heart



I will get up

Tomor­row

And

Know

I will climb the tree.



What else can I do?

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