MONOPOLE

We are the children of memory, which seems so unreal now, when childhood a distant dream. It’s hard to imagine you once were young, it’s hard to grasp all the ways your subconscious has endured. If you dig back hard enough, you can feel a child’s thought and the faint remnants with which it bore itself so deeply into you. You remember seeing the world through those eyes, knowing now you will never be a child again. That experience has shaped you, those eyes still your lenses,

Not all pebbles are in focus, not all dreams are still there when you wake, not all memories retain their luminosity, because life would be too easy if everything were perfect that way. The river that once ran here now is just a creek; the water flowed to other places or else it just evaporated; everything eventually soaks into the earth. The ground is only worth the dirt in which it’s vested; everything else is rocks or whatever cells begot— the trees and people and all thei

The poet is a procrastinator. He goes out of his way to find other things to put his mind to. The poet knows everything else he does isn’t pursuant to his ultimate goal, which isn’t really his anyway. It’s just something he’s found himself stuck to, like a freak second head you’re forced to converse with and for which you then become too attached to destroy. The poet makes every effort to deceive himself, anything to convince his ego that it’s okay to think about something

"Pontificatorily (stage 1)" how do you say to say? how doesn’t one forget to rhyme? i’m not wearing any clothes today, am i? it wouldn’t matter if you were. so goes another month of tuesdays gone so goes another sigh exhaled— how do you blink your eyes your eyes? how do you close your mouth to chew? if i had a right to speak my thoughts i’d be a richer man than you. so what if fingers grinded to the bone? so what if all good separatists die? i don’t see you exasperating any o

“dandelion parapet” whimsical shoes remorseful they don’t walk more a cup worth of soup making love on a cool spring morning to a tin can garnering ideas cultivates a sense of existing everything boils down but still nothing gets defined the challenge has always been coming to terms with that #poem #poetry #dandelion #parapet #newromantacism

how colorless it seems to be forgotten whereas milk laments all rational in daydream breakfast cereal profanity becomes mundane singers scratch chalkboards to experience the unbearable everyone is too worried radical ideas cast out the world so pawning off insanity seems the most logical source of income and prosperity the hope of so many endless dreamers but still this gravity feels no exhaustion because the souls of all the shoes in the world couldn’t surmount its reliabili

i dream once more of pasts gone by through life to limb of futures to come the soft wind and a clearer mind make one last complete thought slip into the open night and december sounds more than a lifetime away #december #poem #poetry #romantic #romanticism

“periscope vernacular catastrophe daffodil” people are just sounding boards for other people’s emotions my cell phone knows me better than i know myself nine:forty-seven on a thursday evening i can’t describe something i don’t know exists. people who look like they’re angry and restless probably are it was nice being there again but i think i enjoyed it better the first time everything tastes like meatball sandwiches now #periscope #vernacular #catastrophe #daffodil #poem #po

To what end will my existence find? To what extent and on what grounds will my existence thrive? These questions have no answers because life has no meaning, purpose, or resolution. It is swept away by inconsequence just as bubbles rising to water’s surface burst. There is no knowing that ever they had been nor any kind of writing down that would provide the experience with perspective. #poem #poetry #bubbles #existence #existential #hopelesslyhopeful

the thrill of hope is lost somehow in the petals of a gilded rose that blooms away from that what it once was it is a two-leaf flower now that grows and grows one petal for my life the other for my love #poem #poetry #hope #roseo #love #flowers