A time bomb is not something that’s already made. It takes years to develop one effectively. Like the one that goes ‘cuckoo’, this time bomb will tell Anyone within earshot that he is not well. With his symptoms ignored, he goes on a blood spree. In his heart, he believes life is viciously played.
Now, this is a fine time bomb; we all can agree. It’s not hard to construct one. It does take some time And some diligence at making him feel depraved Of all semblance of worthiness dreamt of or craved. Our society makes them, and it’s not a crime. When backed into life’s corner, how can one feel free?
Making time bombs of people is such a fine art. It requires a knack for discrete social cues And a cool, subtle disregard toward those not cool. Don’t let any guilt get involved. Don’t be a fool. It’s a shame that we know not when he’ll light his fuse. It’s the products we nurture that blow us apart.
There’s a reason I didn’t start speaking ‘til four, As my family began to think something was wrong. I just needed more time. Language didn’t seem quite Like something to take lightly. That didn’t seem right. I was rushed into speaking so I’d get along With society’s programs and culture and more.
Perhaps I took enough time to learn language well Long before I would stutter and make some mistakes. My perfectionist attitude slowed down my pace. Had I known living life well amounts to a race I would not have been tricked into playing high stakes In a game I know nothing of. I am in hell!
I would want future poets to see I made sense On some level, despite my most retrograde mind. Have your way with my style and do call it your own. Do Not tell them it’s mine because my life is blown. Anything attached to my name is ill-assigned. Make a carcass of my work and at my expense.
I attract what comes to me – no doubt about that. When I find myself frazzled by what’s in my way, I do tend to go off. I’ve been known to get riled When I feel that my honor is being defiled By someone with control issues and much to say – Not with words but with attitude like a bobcat.
Tough black cats at the drive thru is what I will get When I doubt what my better self knows fully well. That is: No one can damage my ‘honor’ but me. What goes on in the real world is not mine to see. I can get through this fine day without letting hell Have her pleasure at my expense and much regret.
Self-control is a skill to be practiced and honed And this world does provide opportunities great. I can move most my muscles; that much is for sure. I command subtle energies never obscure To my worthiness as well as those whom I hate. My distaste for the drive thru is hereby postponed.
Well, of course I am right, you malignant disgrace To my intellect! Why would you think I am wrong? I am right about many things. You are as well. Why is it when I speak it becomes a hard sell? Shall I submit to feeling like I don’t belong To the rest of this universe in the first place?
Yes, I’m right about things. I am wrong sometimes too. There’s a sameness among us all. Why am I cast In a world outside yours. Don’t you know that’s not right? That’s why people go ape shit and get so uptight. If you want your ephemeral friendships to last Then respect what folks have to say as they would you.
People’s rightness or wrongness can be loosely based On one’s subconscious preferences that cloud the mind With fallacious assumptions and fractured impressions. If we dislike someone we give subtle expressions Of disgust and judgement that aren’t very kind. One’s contempt for dishonor seems never misplaced.
Mrs. Twidglene McSmidgen is of the old school Where control in the classroom is gained by brute force. She could not have grown old watching Sesame Street. She is like Foghorn Leghorn and doomed to defeat. She can not swat the tots and then stutter, of course. She would love to use some kind of ‘discipline tool.’
But the ‘tools’ today are much like bargaining chips. And her chips are down usually by display. She can’t muster the will to negotiate with Such inferior beings. To her, it’s a myth That the little ones might become people someday. It seems teachers and tyrants are joined at the hips.
Many teachers are parents, so they have some clue As to what makes most little ones act out in ways That are deemed not appropriate and impolite. And they do have some sense of what’s wrong and what’s right. They are people with voices. Their minds aren’t a maze Nor a puzzle with which we know not what to do.
I have digital ties, and much to my surprise I’ve no need to make contact in any real way With the people in my life and throughout the earth. I’ve been trick-fucked by fellowship ever since birth. I have God on my Facebook wall. That’s how I pray. I have no need for sense. Social discourse is wise.
Although digital ties may lead to my demise I just can’t do without them. They’re part of my act. My whole friendship endeavor is too loosely based On how many ‘page views’ and ‘likes’ that have replaced My own sense of self-worth. I spit out the harsh fact That would have me believe I’m a fool in disguise.
My damned digital ties may in time make me wise To the bullshit behind all the ‘thumbs up’ I chase. If I can’t find fulfillment within my own soul I have no sense of value – no means of control. I’ll continue to live life, yet fully embrace Social Media’s squalor and all it implies.
As most archetypes merge and evolve into more Well-submerged in subconsciousness, earth drives the soul Toward fulfilling its haughty desires unscathed Until true life departs oneself. Then one is bathed In a fog unbecoming a person who’s whole. Even though one is chawless, there’s much to adore.
I know nothing of chaw. I am in no debate. But by rogue curiosity I can possess Some faint insight benevolent to the chaw heart. Chaw is nasty to me. We are lightyears apart. I can see people packing it when under stress. When they’re chawless, they enter a psychotic state.
I’ve respect for the chawless and chawfull as well. Rather than keeping tongue in cheek, they keep a ball Of the foulest, most fecal of substances made. Yet, it’s not by my scale that another is weighed. Whence a chawpauper’s chance could be measured as small It’s the breath that might kill you because of the smell.
I’ve stocked up on B’Jesus. I keep tons on hand. I am sometimes scared out of it due to my not Having faith in my knowing that harm can’t occur In my life unless I turn my cheek, as it were, From the wellbeing present. In fact, there’s a lot Of ways to keep B’Jesus intact as I’d planned.
If B’Jesus were marketed in such a way That it wouldn’t wreak havoc within the mass soul, Then maybe all God’s people would trade fear for love. That would be kind of boring for souls up above. They would rather we kick back and watch super bowl. With B’Jesus so volatile, keep lots and pray.
My B’Jesus supply is my ticket to health In a way that no doctor in my life could be. All B’Jesus is warehoused and shipped from the place Deep within self and to self in radiant grace. Any feces that’s fan-borne can’t terrify me. So, in terms of B’Jesus, I wallow in wealth.
These darned kids, nowadays, must have Soap On The Brain. It’s that newfangled illness that’s talked about much. No one knows where it came from. Perhaps it’s from soap. They are clearly too full of themselves. I can’t cope With these youngsters who sound off to adults and such. Is their purpose for living to drive us insane?
Yes, it’s Soap On The Brain Syndrome without a doubt. There’ve been studies on soap suds of various kinds. One would think they’d all brainwash to make the kid good But they do just the opposite of what they should. One good reason for pills is to shut down their minds So that they are obedient. That’s the best route.
God knows children today are so matter of fact. They will speak their truth loudly so that they are heard. They will take to life, each in extravagant ways And remember a lifetime of wonderful days. Once our need to control them is seen as absurd We will see we’re the ones who should clean up our act.
As the coil whistles wild tunes and rattles the nerve Of what rest of self savors – an ease about flow, The mind could think that wellbeing has a firm grip On the body, or it could go bonkers an trip On just why it seems, all the time, it has to know To what purpose the whistles and rattles might serve.
It’s a coil, after all, in the form of a bowel. I will steer clear of jargon that steers from what’s clear. A tight coil is less spring-like, or more, by the way I devote my attention throughout the long day. If I take notice that no bowel movement is near Then my day is a menace; my language is foul.
Thirty feet of a snake that will never stretch out Nor will never see light of my day from its place Well-concealed in its chamber, content in its ways, I should cease my condemning it and give it praise For the work it does ceaselessly in its embrace Of whatever I put it through without a doubt.
It’s been said truth sounds like hate to those who hate truth. Now, if that ain’t a paradox, send me to school! Does this mean that falsehood sounds like love to the ones Among us who serve mendacity by the tons? That one’s truth is another’s excuse for a duel Is a symptom that manifests from early youth.
I am prone to dig deeper to get to the core Of that which is excitable, pleasant or not. When big planets drop by and move in for a year I could choose to expand my affairs without fear. There are things about passion that scare me a lot. Though I keep on complaining, I do ask for more.
When the elements fire and water touch base The emotions are heated to levels above That which cannot withstand being liquid in form. They expand with a power apart from the norm. We can be broken down to be rebuilt in love. It’s a Jupiter/Scorpio thing taking place.
The Pi-th root of infinity, should it exist As a variable that traverses the mind, Is a root counter rational. And it’s not real. Even though it’s not real math, it does have the feel Of the essence of living among humankind. Within seas of infinities, none are dismissed.
Any root of infinity should be the same As the sum of infinities, meaning, them all. That is, if it could be quantifiable stuff Where one gets to the point where one says, “That’s Enough!” Yet, indeed it’s a concept one couldn’t call small. It does draw the mind close like the moth to the flame.
By the numbers, I number among the ignored. That is nothing to cry about. I will be heard As my meaning has function with my heart and mind. Might that happen this time around? I am resigned To a life of fulfillment transfigured through word. There are worlds of infinities to be explored.
That resistance is much like impedance is what I believe non-hair-splitters believe is absurd. Opposition to current flow through any coil Is not like through resistor where current must toil. Free electrons are volatile – easily stirred Into motion. They book when their path is clear cut.
There’s resistance to life. There’s impedance as well. I’ve both AC and DC afoot through my nerves. When I wish for my dreams to come true, but I doubt, I’ve got AC creating impedance throughout My inductive creativeness. My flow deserves Resonance in its purpose wherein I excel.
I can deal with resistance in life when in tune. I can sense the direction my life force has faced. When I feel heavy heat loss with energy low, I’ve got too much resistance impeding the flow Of the best life that I can live with heart well-placed Within earth’s human circuitry where all commune.
Many landscapes and seascapes avail themselves to Simple pleasures of living that people enjoy. Many lips go for kissing or catching the breeze. There are spaces for tulips along friendly seas. Whether tulips or few lips, each harbor the ploy Of accessing the inner self like an old shoe.
Two lips land locked could be but one half of a quad Where the missing half seems not a task to conceive. Or two lips can be literate, light and at ease With the spirit of nature who’s willing to please. With some tulips between lips some hearts do achieve Some small measure of happiness. Does that seem odd?
It’s the toss of a coin, sometimes, how things evolve. Often life seems a game of chance hostile to will. But it seems, at the same time, that I’m in control Of what happens in my life and with my own soul. That control comes from within – the voice that is still. With a lifetime of life scenes, I’ve nothing to solve.
I do most things online. I get digital sex Through a modem equipped with touching technique That sends chills up my spine when I’m getting things done. When it comes to my laundry, my cycle’s begun. I upload it to DigiClean once every week. It downloads clean and folded, according to specs.
But sometimes I have trouble converting my load To dot lnd format. This causes me stress. I know Customer Service will lend me a hand. They are always so friendly, and they understand That although my ill applet has me in a mess I will soon have clean laundry within my abode.
Often times it’s the codec that culprits my cause. They get changed much too frequently due to the way Bits of data treat fabric, synthetic or real. They know nothing of texture. They can’t up and feel. A fresh codec for cotton does brighten my day. When one does laundry online, one obeys the laws.
“Nuke the HELL out of life, but God, save those stem cells!” If one thinks I’m a nut case, just look where I’m from. I would not call one nigger who’s blacker than me Unless done in endearment most positively. One would think common sense would out weapon the norm. That, it seems, is where I am – between parallels.
We’re a species of contrast all up in the face As the web of technology quickens its crawl. Worldwide media trigger most worldwide events. We’re confounded with coverage at our expense. Hair still stands on my neck when I hear someone’s drawl. I’m a nut case as well as the whole human race!
I can’t fault human nature. I’m one of its kind. What I can do is closely observe what takes place. I’m a student of human behavior. As such I delight in interpreting life very much. And I do that quite well. I can always embrace My well-cultured indifference and firm peace of mind.
Have I been of good service? I’m nervous to know Because I’ve grown so old in a very short time. Have I done unto others what they’ve done for me? Have I taught them – or they, me – a new way to see? Have I wasted my time with my making verse rhyme? Valued Customer, should I remain here or go?
Many crossroads or turning points scatter my way. They reflect my decisions made well in advance Of my birth in the physical realness of earth. Each new vantage point offers one choice of self-worth Or the other one where soothing has not a chance. When I choose incorrectly, do self I betray?
My reflection on earth does not fear to be wrong. It is but a mere image of all I’ve become. I cannot make a bad choice. No end is in sight. Consciousness is eternal. My future is bright. My decisions in life amount to the grand sum Of a soulful surviving. My life force is strong.
There are zillion quadrillions of stars, so they say – All the ones who have counted them one at a time. I believe them. I’ve no call to doubt their fine work. I respect them for work that would drive me berserk. From stardust to star system, each star lives its prime Then returns to its dust state for instant replay.
Now, how many fresh thoughts does one think in a day? It turns out, not so many. Our habits say so. We think thoughts we thought yesterday, most of the time. More than most of those thoughts are not worth a broke dime. We think thousands of thoughts a day, yet we don’t know How to think them effectively, to our dismay.
Every thought ever crafted from day one ‘til now Still exists in the cosmos in its stardust form. When our stardust-like thoughts trigger others the same, A new thought with momentum will burst into flame. Still more thoughts that are like it converge in a storm. We can keep our thoughts bright as far as we allow.
Should I carry my tool in a spare vestibule Under armpit or next to my lower left nut? I could hide one inside my collapsible shoe Then when I click my heels I could put a hole through Any short mother fucker who thinks he knows what Makes him bad enough to take on such a damned fool.
I’ve a right to conceal it – my fearfulness streak. It’s a feeling I’m used to. It makes common sense. Everyone has one’s own set of circumstances Wherein fear reinforces and heightens the chances Some gun will go off in the name of defense. I must conceal my fearfulness or I’ll feel weak.
So, do carry my way. Guns are here to stay. And it’s not like we’re civil. We’re wicked and wild. We’re a cumbersome species who can’t get along. We need plenty of weaponry to make us strong. Guns and gun control can be left up to the child Who would see them as folly and wish them away.
To maintain a wave function, there’s unction involved, Of the kind that is foul like the breath of the bowel. When gratuitous bodily functions persist, Then events that are current should drift off my list Of life scenes I engage with. A healthy avowal Is one I’ll not take lightly if life seems unsolved.
Live does seem rather gross. There is spit in the air. Folks are hocking their guts out for others to see. But it’s just my perception. I see it that way Only if it is helpful in making my day The way I and those like me would like it to be. Were there not others like me, life wouldn’t be fair.
Life’s a function phenomenal – much like a dream Where the mind excretes heavily upon the soul. To endure a wave function would take strength of will. To collapse one effectively, one must have skill. In the grim art of winning at every sought goal, There’s a point where one thinks that one’s will is supreme.
A long series of ups and downs marks this sort trip Through a life that is lived induced into the next. One half cycle is joy, and the other is pain. I experience both to my truest self’s gain. But my true self in spirit can never be vexed As the half cycle negative, true self will flip.
Any life situation I see in some way That is not to my liking – a pain up the path My true self doesn’t go there. That’s why I feel pain. It does see things quite differently, without disdain. As it processes sine waves, the cool aftermath Is full rectification with zero delay.
Life in spirit is positive – nothing but good. It’s our good times – and bad times – that do make it so. I can translate the pain any way that I may. But I know that my true self just knows a great day. Though my negative half cycles hinder my flow I can know they will pass as I will and well should.
Without faith and with shoes on, I walk across time. Half way past holy bullshit, I always find more. From the fake polls that tell me that Clinton should win To the priests who spunk little boys (Ain’t that a sin?), I know faith is a mystery dressed as a whore. It’s complexity makes for a rich paradigm.
I can take what seems solid and firm to the touch As mere referral points that in time will dissolve Into nothingness, just like the space in-between All particulate substances that can’t be seen. God has given each soul its own puzzle to solve. As for seeking consensus – it doesn’t mean much.
Yet, it means much to those who would have me believe There’s a God who’s outside me who’s bigger than mine. We are followers. That’s why we’re tended like sheep. We are strung out for someone’s commandments to keep. Any fool with a message will suit the world fine. Faith is oft’ an elixir to numb the naïve.
One would think I’m a colon or that it is me As I move about backed up with scowl on the brain. If I find myself trapped near the end of my gut, Seems my bowel is an asshole who’s tired of the rut That we both made together while waxing insane. My behavior’s atrocious, as I can well see.
I gave up on the action paths. None will work well. I’ve popped shitters like Skittles and chased them with milk Of magnesia. I’ve tried tons of ex-lax and more. I’m so hell bent on crapping, I’ve got my own store. I would like stuff to flow softly through me like silk. But it seems that my blasted pipes are shot to hell.
On the other hand, though, that may not be quite so. I create my reality whether I’m trapped In a body that feels like it’s felt its last days Or in one that feels wholesome in all natural ways, When I clean my vibration, that bowel will be zapped With a blast of pure energy. This I well know.
I would hippity hem-haw and yippee tie yea If I had but in inkling of what is in store. With my ass in a sling that’s attached to nowhere I’m a fumbling freak phantom no one can compare. I’m a goofball – a catcher’s mitt right to the core. Yet, I’m not in a ballgame. I can’t even play.
Serendipitous circumstance falls upon me In a way that seems clumsy – like part of an act. But no one can screw up quite as well as I can. I am male and I’m hetero. Am I a man? I can’t take people’s judgements as matter of fact. I am here to seek balance. Thank God I can see!
A Fantabulous Fumbling through life like a breeze Through a house of cards ready and willing to be Cast in disarray, yielding to requited bliss, I’m a laughable life. There is naught to remiss. So, perhaps I was born to get others to see Maybe nothing. In such case, I’ve naught to appease.
I am radio active. I am a half-life And a wavelength that’s shorter than my eyes can know. I am half here… half not here for each moment passed. Some converge into now, and I wish those would last. I’m an incomplete being most moments although Every moment’s reception is sharp as a knife.
This is not Dress Rehearsal. I’m rarely on stage And my act is not drama, for that can be judged. I believe in this half-life I live here and now And I chose it wholeheartedly so I’d allow Ample room for becoming. But I haven’t budged Since believing I’m measured by some other’s gauge.
It’s a half-life for me. I won’t get it all done. A complete fully functioning being I’m not. I prepare for the next life. This life is not all Life that I’ll ever live. That would be living small. As my world sees right through me, I could be forgot. I’m at home with my half-life. It’s better than none.
I’ve got too much too chew. It came out of the blue Or oblivious. I don’t know which one it is. Simple greetings befall me as well as small talk. By default I’m committed. There’s no room to balk. I’ve been offered a chewing as well as a quiz Once again I’m amazed by what I’ve stepped into.
This huge bone I’ve accepted seemed small at the start. Or perhaps my small eyes see most anything big. My eyes get me in trouble. My loose tongue as well. I do act on my own and create my own hell. If my eyes could see big things as small as a twig Perhaps then I’d be shielded from hurt to the heart.
I should bite off a large chunk if I think I can Get my jaws wrapped around it not seeming the fool. Yet when I find that I’ve bitten off more than I Could digest in a lifetime, I’m ready to try Anything that might stop my becoming a tool. I can be of good service and still be a man.
It’s a match made in heaven, this cosmos and I. We delight in each other’s benevolent grace. Unbeknownst to no one, I’m engaged to pure fun And my life is worth loving and living ‘til done. There is more time for rhyming with leather and lace. If I could, without wings, I would take off and fly.
If I but allow it, I will feel all the love That flows to me and through me and makes myself whole. When I love myself first, then my cosmos responds Often instantly. This surely strengthens our bonds. Our relationship is such that we are one soul. There is heaven between us as well as above.
My dear universe sees me when I am unseen In my own separation from what it knows well. I am loved by this universe and understood. When I’m out of alignment, my silly thoughts could Cast upon me some cheap psychological spell. My soulmate is the universe with heart serene.
A decisive device is one that can’t act nice. Its decisions it makes with no input at all From the user who just wants to get some things done. I do not go for gaming nor surfing for fun. And it gets so aggressive and makes me feel small. I can’t deal with a dick headed devil device.
Don’t peek-a-boo to me with messages from Your right corner, peripheral to my intent. You do tittle my gaze as if I were a cat. You should know that I’m human, and what’s wrong with that? You continue to dick me. Indeed, you’re hell bent On securing my madness so then you will cum.
A divisive sufficing may be what I need. My decisive devices can get me perplexed. When they tell me they’re doing things I don’t want done Should I gather my privates, then turn tail and run? I can’t figure out why things are so over sexed. I shall guard my virginity as I proceed.
Please allow him to introduce himself to you. He’s a man who we hear from so once in a while. He’s mild mannered most times and there seems nothing wrong. Though he’s human he feels like he doesn’t belong. As he nurtures that premise, his thoughts become vile. When frustrated and helpless, what is there to do?
One could contact the Bureau of What’s Wrong With Me If in fact they would have a solution for him That would keep him connected to all human kind. But that kind of solution is so hard to find. He will tell us our futures and his are quite dim. Could it be that no one gives him reason to be?
I will take life’s frustration and deep numbing rage To a limit below where I start to see red. I’m a butcher. We all are to some small degree. When we realize how horrible butchers can be We will cease disregarding. We’ll limit the spread Of the butcher’s performance upon bloody stage.
My caress is a wash unto those of my kind And my kind could be all kind or no one but me. One can think about kindness awash in pure love. Surely all kinds can do kind things sort of kind of. I can’t keep life from washing straight out to the sea Because we’re locked together. Our souls are combined.
It’s awash in some contrast. My life’s not a dream. Often times I’m impatient and damned to be right. In the long run my life could explode in my face If I don’t learn to concede some battles in grace. Life before and life after this life is a bright Reawakening to self-fulfillment supreme.
Life’s a lockwash. I’m screwed down to earth, as it were. I am taut way past finger tight. Pressure is keen Yet it can’t be perceived well unless I express It in some way appropriate – not to excess. When released from the lockwash of life there is seen All that held me together for life to occur.
To others the greatest of gifts I can give Is my happiness. Not that I have other things. There are gifts that I give that have value to some But the gift that is lasting is when I become Mostly happy and joyful about what life brings. Am I happy toward others? That’s how I should live.
I do seek joy selfishly. It’s the best way To develop discernment in going about Meeting others and caring about how they feel. In releasing resistance my whole life can heal. When I meet folks I want there to be not a doubt That my motive is hearing what they have to say.
I must be in my joy or else I cannot be Of assistance to anyone – not any way. What I’m offering graciously is part of me. Now, if I’m in a bad mood, it’s easy to see That I’m out of alignment until the new day. Mostly, though, I’m a present who’s offered for free.