PoetryThreeSixFive

When you’re as hot as I am, baby,

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.

Some build buildings for daily living,

their families and themselves;

Some build buildings to hold their stuff,

displaying it all on shelves

Some build buildings to show their wealth,

displaying their names in stone;

Some build buildings to hide themselves,

living there all alone

Some build buildings to do a job

as carpenters paid for hire; builder

Some build buildings to honor God

in splendor and towering spires

Some build buildings to punish others,

imprisoning them in jail;

Some build buildings to serve their drinks,

whiskies and wines and ales

Some build buildings for human art

for all the world to see;

Some build buildings to hide their secrets

so others will let them be

Some build buildings for teaching others

as monuments to the mind;

Some build buildings to govern nations,

to organize human kind

With all these buildings of mice and men

we calculate human worth;

from caves we came and shall return

all housed within the earth.

Splitting wood is a testament to patience,

smashing the blade into a knotted round

of oak over and over until it surrenders,

stacking it piece by piece in lined display,

knowing that you will not touch it for at

least a year, maybe two, until the weather

has had its way with it, an investment in

future winters such that should the shit

hit the fan, you would have warmth for

years to come, courtesy of the very earth

into whose dark ashes we will all return.

Imagine being a trash collector

every single day,

going around and picking up

what others throw away

But if we didn’t have them,

the gears of life would stall,

the big machine would rust away,

and society would fall.

Pornhub Patty,

I love her so,

she’s always ready,

she never says no,

she likes it fast,

she likes it slow,

Pornhub Patty,

I love her so.

I woke up this morning and it felt as if the world had

stopped, no wind, no sun; it had stormed hard the night

before, and the morning was still and grey; no emails,

no phone calls, no neighbors on the street, no birds,

no squirrels in the backyard, and I thought to myself,

how wonderful, perhaps Time itself has finally stopped

and I will get to take a break from all of my demands,

from obligation, from aging itself, just me and my dog

sitting beneath the sky, watching the trees, breathing

the air, never to grow old, just sitting with an old book

filled with characters who never existed, written by a

person who died a long time ago in a place far, far away

In wealthy world, adults wear white button down shirts

the way teenage girls wear flip flops in summertime;

ordering extra is oxymoronic, as there is no other way,

spending more on incidentals than the average person

allocates for investments; even casual conversations

include references to interest rates, liquidity, term and

time, for time is money and money makes money; the

inside of a dollar store has never entered their visual

repertoire; there is more fresh food available within

arm’s reach on a given day than poor people will see

within a month, and the fear of being hungry has never

entered their minds; yet for all these jarring differences,

there are at present enough resources for every human

on earth to enjoy the benefits of affluence every day for

the rest of their lives, as our government spends more

money in one week dropping bombs on foreign nations

than it does annually on its entire domestic population;

if we had the political will, we could easily allocate one

million dollars to every man, woman, and child in this

country and eliminate American poverty in a single day

without skipping a beat or putting a dent into the ongoing

war machine that has no point and produces zero return,

but this will never happen because if there were no more

have-nots, there would be no more haves, and they will

never allow a world devoid of domination, for time may

be money, but money is power, and power is everything.

Why won’t anyone take a chance?

I really wish I knew;

each time, the same old song and dance,

why won’t anyone take a chance?

is loneliness better than romance?

I don’t think that is true;

why won’t anyone take a chance?

I really wish I knew

See John.

See John go.

See John go to school.

John likes school.

See John graduate.

John is done with school.

John needs a job.

See John look for a job.

Look, John, look.

There is a job.

You can’t get the job.

See John keep looking.

John gets no jobs.

Why can’t he get a job?

John does not know.

See John cry.

Don’t cry, John.

See John stop crying.

See John get mad.

John, why are you mad?

John is mad because he is poor.

See John be poor.

See John give up.

Don’t give up, John.

John gives up.

See John go back to school.

See John take out loans.

See John even more poor.

See John graduate.

John is done with school.

John needs a job.

See John look for a job.

Look, John, look.

There is a job.

You can’t get the job.

See John keep looking.

When people say they struggle with alcohol

I envision a grappling of sorts, one hand on

bottle neck, clenching it white-knuckled, the

other feverishly working to remove the top

until a shattering of glass draws blood, some

yelling, with a double-pour of profanity, a

bare-armed bashing of things against a wall,

things thrown, broken picture frames, broken

promises, words that cannot be taken back,

a pause for catching breath, a side-eye glance

reigniting the scuffle until both topple to the

floor, head glancing off the edge of a counter,

ringing in pain, shirt soaked through, wakened

neighbors calling the cops, and someone has to

lose or surrender, call it a tie, an understanding

marinated in pain and shame until need returns

in lipstick and roses, and the pouring of heart

and mind forceful enough to override reason.

What the world needs now is less people and more dogs,

more parks and less pavement, less plastic and more wood,

more books and less screens, less guns and more guitars,

more love and less anger, less judgement and more charity,

more trees and less buildings, less robots and more snow,

more laughter and less fear, less greed and more generosity,

more games and less gangs, less lawyers and more respect,

more peanut butter and less corn syrup, less influencers

and more artists, more surfboards and less cyber trucks,

less cancellation and more compassion, more chocolate

and less polyester, less dirty looks and more collaboration,

more exploration and less litigation, less pollution and more

dance, more comedy and less blame, a little less conversation

and a little more action, please, a drink, a genuine smile, ice,

and a maraschino cherry, and not the cheap kind either