Bright in His Wonders

Lights rake city streets
Cool wind moons beam down rays
Brightly he wonders

What never was

Rancid Astrophil 1

Bitter, rancid Noxious heart

This day doth dream a better start

Poor man's bluff makes truer volley

Of a man's rough choices foley

Decisions made never least true

Paid for later with trembling few

Mightiest a few societally unbound

In the cult of perfection I so drowned

Having once heard I carry you in my heart

I never looked twice at my failed start

Dating apps fill a void so I am defined

Pleasure in tinder meetings oh refined

But a dark dream throws me askew

A nightmarish though of romance anew.

waking from a bad dream

I let the day get away,

Unrequited desire,

Lost for a shotgun marriage of hearts

我想要靠近她

我希望。。。

I let sweet love's lost

Lust away,

Thinking throughout time

To a thought's last spark.

Always thinking,

Always trying to forget.

She was there.

我想。。。

Too late, 

too god damned fucking late

Awake from 7 AM's

Nightmare slumbers.

About she who never was

I don't know if she ever will be.

But I hope.

I am rattled.

Disraught. Totally disheveled.

What do I do?

History of the Western Poetic Tradition

This is a poem of sorts, but not entirely
If I could write the history of the Western poem in one sentence,
It would be this:

First there was Homer, and then it got harder.

Our Pictures

We still live together, and even share the same bed. We're in that awkward phase where we are still co-dependent for the time being. Wounds are fresh, and thoughtful tears are intermittent.

It's not going to work out between us, and it breaks my heart to admit it.

The possibility of patching things up is there (or was there), and as difficult as it is, when I look at our photos, or photos of you, and see all the things that I want in my life, I have to ask myself the question "is it worth it?" Although, I don't WANT to feel like I'm closing a chapter in a book, but rather, that our story is worth continuing, the answer to that question seems to be a hesitant "no." In all my heart, you are the person that I want to spend the rest of my life with. And when I look at your face, my blurred vision reminds me that that is what I want. I don't ever want to stop seeing your face that way -- I don't ever want to stop looking at you, and seeing things that other people can't see. Five years with you was a lottery of happiness that has forever changed me as a person -- even through the hard times; and there have been many hard times of late.

I want to stand from tabletops, roofs, and mountains, and cry out "I love you!" But what would it accomplish? Three more months of trying, and failing? Or perhaps three more years?

Five years... it's been five years, that have gone by far too quickly. My own parents, dated, married, had children and separated in less time than we have been living together as a couple. My dad, was scarred so profoundly, in a way that seems to have affected him for life, while my mom was also affected negatively in her own way by the separation. I know that I can be resilient, through these times, and do what needs to be done. Even if it is so difficult to see something that I want more than anything, so close within reach, and know that it's not worth it. We would never be able to work out our differences, and in and of itself that makes me feel great sadness... considering how close we have been these past five years.

I don't know what happens next, but I know that the grown up thing to do is to hold no animosity over what was lost, and to leave things on as positive a note as possible. I don't want the pictures we've taken together to be marred, or disfigured by negative feelings. I want to be able to look at them, and I want to feel like it's okay for me to cry, without resenting what is gone from my life.

I nub you bao bao. I hope that a part of me will always love you. Now, when I see your pictures, and the stream of salty tears meets my lips, I know that what we had -- what we have -- is a very rare thing for anybody to experience. However, it's time for us to stop making pictures together. It's time for us to start new.

Literati

When Rat Traps maximize
All affect stands in most articulate poise,
And when predicates terrorize
Alternative facts express mellifluous intention.

Hootsuite's scheduling of stock photos
Twitter posts and fans of your Facebook page.
Food pics, #hasthags and rage post dramas
Political savvy, time zones around the world

And things you do, as if nobody is watching.

Such as dancing to the tune of a different key,

And the drum of a different beat.

You may find love on Tinder

And on Pinterest, chocolate chip cookie recipes,

Censored documents, burnt to a cinder

And of interest, a Danish roux with
potatoes carrots and peas.

But there will be no puzzle peace

In this Mangalomaniacal haze

Before fires make double cease

That lasts for ends beyond days

Tiger 3-4

Part 3

Expensive wine as Barolo
Picked of the vine that grows
of the grape of Nebbiolo
A Piedmontese vinery rose

To be consumed by whom which partake
In thingstuffs and fineries
Which leave the soul in a state of heartache
For luxuriestuff from expensive dineries

Then sit cross from me, me and I
And share in this fermentery so fine
For which witness of, seek to spy
Of this that is so richest of the wine

But don't!
Or do.


Part 4


Taken from one extreme to another
Oh! So so so haughty
East Coast to Pacific North something or other
Dabble with drugs, oh so naughty

The low-calorie martini
Of MDMA fame
Burns not as the Scotch
Yet indifference the same

And not the same type of word name
Although alcohol is no less a drug
Than any other Absinthe, or Mezcal
When nothing becomes of a larval bug

威士忌酒
For me，you，my love, ic luvie þe

December 2nd

December darkly Memoirs of early autumn air Motors hum distant .

Foreplay

Poignant melodramas
Make angry faces at melancholy
benevolent Despots.

As the last Gandhi speaks

the last lama reconsiders

taking reincarnation out of the picture.

But reincarnation doesn't exist

And souls don't exist

Or ghosts of Gandhic disciples

Aliens don't mutilate sacred cows

for your pleasure.

牛肉很好吃
There's nothing quite like -- a
        Big Mac. But most all burgers are better.

Food blows electric daisy winds
                    Pushing up 9 inch nails
                    Against the ruddy teal waters
Of tall mountains.

Tantric massages know no
               Bounds when prostitutes
Bind legislation
And make bitter pills in Ecstasy.

Tiger

Fetid noxious swamp aghast
The sight of the Id before the Ego
Archetypes anxious for Anything at last
They hid backstage among sentence fragments, snorting blow

Romeo oh Romeo wherefore art thou
For I see not but a foul gas
Breaking out beyond and past the brow
Cross putrid swamp's mossy hairlike grass

Prowling tiger kisses sweet limericks
And men from Nantucket pick fights
While a dog is strong up in a Shangri-lift

Sweet female bodies sell marvelous mavericks
To masses of consumerist knights
Who don't shoot penises at virtual paintings

Part 2

老虎， 我爱你
康熙帝说了，可是我不知道
Tiger also loves me
But Kangxi died a long time ago now.

Is Chinese poetical, and English dry?
Do you beg to differ, me and I?
Romance languages are passionate! Right?
Germanic-coolness, eh mite?

McLuhan said things
The medium speaks about itself
Twitter communicates what.

140 characters or less.
Radiance. Brilliance.
Eat gall bladder of the Tiger for more power.

What Cucks Think

It snowed again today

It doesn't often snow in Vancouver,

Twas a record setting season they say

Covering the ground like a haggard reminder

Old time is still a flying,

It's the end of the world -- as we know it

When Carlson melts down. Ice.

With his laser-focused heat ray vision.

Dear "You're supposed to be the" Science Guy, Bill Nye

"I'M OPEN MINDED. YOU'RE NOT!" 

Tucker
P.S.

"Love the bow tie, more than life itself."

Let it go -- let it all go, instead

Remember the time of Stravinsky,

or the times of Beethoven, or Hendrix.

Or Deathcab for Cutie. Or Daft Punk.

The maelstrom whirls, and the

Jovian sky portal calls forth

the winds of the Polar Vortex.

When that glorious lamp of heaven

Signals to erudite Alex Jones

that globalists market hot yoga as 

part of their demonic Illuminati agenda

TO TURN THE FROGS GAY

然后他说话 -- to one million Americans.

And yet the climate, changes the least.

But other climates change more,

And it is a sign, that the change is

very great.

Mind the climate, both literally and figuratively.

Pythia

E, one half of Pytho
The oracle of Apollo's temple
"No man in Athens is wiser than Socrates"
More or less said.

---------------------------------

Are the properties of word
inherent in the name of word
Heo biþ genemned
可是她没有叫名字。

Discordant struck strings
plucking notes of higher things
High structures, fine chords
"arpeggio", "tighter, AND faster."

Though I sit a small breadth away
A city's width to stray -- some might say
Flow, as the orchid, dancing lady
Go, like Ovid, the didactic coronary

Metamorphose, Sinful Oni,
Do not lay þine Kawaii neko-eyes  (😽)
Beady as the Magatama
On mine sulfurous guise.

The 9th of November

Windswept static brown 
Brush over rugged Earth 
Electric autumn

Pan's Cabin

Gygax brings his Geiger counter -- evolving Gliscor 
But autocorrect says "Scoreline"
Meanwhile, Google knows exactly what I want.

刘晓波 is Empty Chair.

Control the masses, fly orange skinned kites

Can't unbreak glasses, stones unthrown trade no bites

Artificial Intelligence knows all names

And creates augmented reality games.

So many rhyming couplets

I shall at least refrain

From using nothing but quatrain.

For/get/ forms/, read/ ev/er/y/ syll/able/ stressed/.

Read every with three syllables, just in that line.

Enjamb

ment.

Poetry and poets are often self-referential

Is it a calculated risk to boast

In a world where Bolsheviks round up versers

And liberty-for-all types are birthers.

Freedom-fighter, terrorist or thought provoker?

Anti-establishment, anarchy or moron?

That sounds like Adam Kokesh or Milo Yiannopoulos 

A bitter, trite, stomach ulcer,

Eyes in hand, still can't topple two in the bush.