PoetryThreeSixFive

It’s hard to believe that monsters once roamed the earth,

sauropods the size of apartment buildings, sea creatures

bigger than battleships, and here we are with our feeble

little bodies and only proportionately large brains, with

hearts the size of fists, fighting not for love but for oil,

for land, for things that can never actually belong to us

because they will outlast us all, for long before we took

the stage, the dinosaurs were already decomposing into

petroleum, their moldering biomass of such magnitude

that their leftovers power our cities and send spacecraft

to the moon, yet we continue to laud ourselves as masters

of this realm instead of the naïve schoolchildren that we

are, impetuous and self-interested, questionably educated,

exploring this decayed building that once housed billions

of generations of long extinct species across a timespan

so large that we are unable to fathom how temporary we

are, fleas upon the putrefying corpse of our own ambition.

I really don’t want to die

without watching Casablanca,

or reading Pride and Prejudice

and savoring its style

Listening to the entirety

of Abbey Road on vinyl,

or never meeting Mona Lisa

and her haunting smile

So many works of magic

that the human race has conjured,

so many that I’ve treasured,

telling others of their worth

So many that I’ve never

had the chance to fully savor—

I guess I ought to do it

while I’m still upon this earth.

How much work is vanity,

catering to desire,

so when we speak of happiness,

we prove ourselves a liar?

And how much is necessity,

just trying not to bleed,

for safety, shelter, food, and water,

only what we need?

And how much are we spending

in energy and time,

to keep up with the Joneses

when we could be in our prime?

And how much life is squandered

seeking something more,

just trying to be wealthy

when we’re anything but poor?

When she and I were together, after a long day,

we would sit together and watch television, and

all she wanted to do was veg-out and see what

was on, a little of this and some of that, a tasting

menu of emotions, catching up on the world of

reality shows, sitcoms, singing competitions, all

meaningless, mindless entertainment, which was

exactly the point, for falling into an unstructured

session of gratuitous observation was fully unlike

her boxed-in schedule at work, but it would drive

me crazy, for I wanted to watch a full movie, or

another episode of whatever series we were into

and not just browse aimlessly, as I saw it, without

purpose, so there I would be, restless, asking for

the remote, making the mistake of regarding these

plans as some potential accomplishment instead

of amusement, trying to feed my ambition instead

of savoring the moment, so there I would be, upset

that I wasn’t getting anything done, clueless to the

fact that her sitting there beside me, wanting to be

with me doing nothing, was not only the greatest

accomplishment of my day but probably my entire

life, and I couldn’t even see it, so yes, I wasted

many hours, but not because I couldn’t tell you

what we watched but because I thought it mattered.

The ants building their hills upon the curb

like a miniature city in sand, a civilization

that will get wiped out by the next torrential

rain, a microcosm of our own meager footprint

upon this earth, for if we compare ourselves

to the dinosaurs, our lease has been but a week

within an eternity of time, and if there are

other beings infinitely greater than us that

we cannot fathom in the same way that

the ants cannot fathom us, gods or leviathans

so large that their lives are a thousand times

longer than ours, operating on the order of eons,

than our measly blip of existence may be lesser

than we can imagine because we cannot know

what cannot be known, or see what cannot

be seen, even if we think we have seen it all,

and the only question that remains is what

torrential force will be the rain that erases us.

Seriously, just for a minute,

sixty seconds, and see what

happens

turn your sensory amplifier

up to ten, for full throttle

detection

pay the most attention you

have ever paid to anything

in your entire life

every single sight, sound,

smell, taste, and sensation

that you can

until you understand exactly

how much is going that you

never realized

all at the same time

and this is how it always is

when you’re not paying attention

The poison ivy’s in full bloom

with outstretched hands of pain

and holds the power in its touch

to make you go insane

Its oily skin so shiny

as it flitters in the breeze,

its fingers leaving anguish

on your ankles and your knees

And every year, it’s thicker

on the path on either side;

these woods are simply not the same,

it cannot be denied

And so, from May until October,

every single year,

I keep to only open paths

in vigilance and fear

I long for those idyllic days

when I could walk the creeks

and not be burdened by the thought

of being plagued for weeks

But this now the world

and they will not let it burn,

and so I wait for winter

and the frozen clock to turn.

What kind of person am I that I have

convinced myself that if I have the right

pair of socks, somehow, my life will be better?

that because they are 70% wool, 30% nylon,

and 10% rayon, as opposed to, say,

100% cotton, they are somehow

the perfect addition to my already

overburdened wardrobe?

Who has alchemized me into this weird

creature of product, an uber-consumer

concerned about the micro-minutia of what

otherwise should be a rudimentary purchase?

How did this happen? when? and what am I

avoiding by expending so much mental energy

on such insignificance when it could be better

spent on designing a product that has yet to exist,

or researching a theory that may benefit humankind?

Or simply sitting beneath a tree with my dog

and watching the sky unfold before me,

which requires no input and has

nothing to do with utility,

exchange, or personal

acknowledgment

whatsoever

Black, White, and Grey walked into a bar:

Black said, I’m going this way,

White said, I’m going that way,

Grey said, I’m just gonna sit right here            

and have a beer

When you’re as ugly as I am,

nothing goes your way,

from the ass-crack break of morning

to the sweat-stained end of day

The pretty girls ignore me,

the ugly ones act nice,

but sense of humor on its own,

it seems, will not suffice

The guys don’t mind my presence

but will never seek me out,

for meeting girls and getting laid

is not what I’m about

I go about my business,

just doing what I do,

and what that is, exactly,

no one cares, not even you

So if this sounds familiar,

and makes you feel blue,

it’s likely that, among your friends,

the ugly one is you.

When you’re as hot as I am,

everything goes your way,

from the cock-hard tip of morning

to the ass-hole end of day

The hotties give me numbers,

and the ugly ones, they beg,

the married ones play footsie

or demurely show some leg

The guys all want to be me,

in my radius, at least,

when dining with the daddy

even scraps can make a feast

The doors, they always open,

and the offers always come,

for when you’re this endowed,

it doesn’t matter if you’re dumb

So if you still are wondering

if this torrid tale is true,

it’s only because you’re jealous

that I’m prettier than you.

There’s something with my brain

that I should be so dense,

and not quite fully sane,

I must add, in my defense

For grief doth work its wonders

upon the human will,

and so I work in blunders

and remain imperfect still.

A long time ago, humankind figured out

that if they got more of one thing, they could

get more of another, and they called it money

and they pursued it relentlessly in order to

get all the things that they wanted, and often

more than they would ever need

this is the meaning of value,

and this is what love is, for when you have it,

you have more of everything

it gives value to the world, to everyday

experiences, the drinking of coffee,

the folding of clothes

with love, you get things you would never

know otherwise, a life that many go for

long stretches of their lives without

impoverished, starved of sustenance,

and those who have it often overlook it,

simply seeking more

but unlike money, love cannot be acquired,

and is pursued at your own risk, with

no guarantee of return

it is more like treasure that may or may not

be bestowed upon you by the gods

with a blessed hand

and should you be so fortunate as to

have it granted, accept it with two hands

and never let it go

There’s something about the telling

of stories from the past

that gets our hearts to swelling,

there’s something about the telling,

the problem is the dwelling,

still wishing it would last;

there’s something about the telling

of stories from the past.

The simple secret to success

is knowing when to duck;

it’s simply timing, more or less,

the simple secret to success,

and understanding when, I guess,

it’s time to give a fuck;

the simple secret to success

is knowing when to duck.

When everything is said and done,

I wonder who will win?

the ones who worked or had some fun,

when everything is said and done;

the one who had the biggest gun,

or wore the biggest grin?

when everything is said and done,

I wonder who will win?

Don’t look at me with your anime eyes,

I swear, I’ll look away;

those trembling orbs where sadness lies,

don’t look at me with your anime eyes,

where demons dwell and comfort dies

and vengeance goes astray;

don’t look at me with your anime eyes,

I swear, I’ll look away.