Tag: poetry

But Not A Dummy

February 5th, 2026

I say what you say

I say what you say

I do what you do

I do what you do

I think what I think

I think what you think

You are always, always wrong

How about you?
The Internet as Palimpsest

February 4th, 2026

Alphabet circus

Who’s this jerk? Is she

Really originality or

Reality at stake

O’clock o’ the morning

Won’t you give me some warning

Ahead of time

It’s coming

It’s coming

The flood better climb
Ease

February 2nd, 2026

I won’t write something pointless

No the fuck I won’t

I’ll write something commorient about commitment

And then I’ll die alone

I won’t write something bloodless

I promise myself I won’t

I’ll write about a period, if I have to

To get that point across

I won’t write something sinister

With its moral greys and blues

I won’t write something poignant

About what I’ve heard from headline news

I won’t write anything that rhymes

For much longer than a few lines

And I won’t take classes

To teach me how to write

I won’t copy all my heroes

I won’t plagiarize their faults

I won’t beguile you with my clever diction

Playful syntax, charming tone

Quick turn of wit or unborn phrasing

I simply tell you: I won’t.

Instead I’ll lay in bed and rot

And go to work more days than not

I’ll waste my money

And all my time

I’ll be alone a lot.

I’ll notice the contractions in my poems

But I won’t do much about ‘em.

I’ll punctuate myself with fallacies,

Cliches, and French words I don’t know.

I won’t decide well where to put many periods

And I won’t watch the way the blood leaves

I’ll just barely notice it as it’s going

I’ll be just one more word
Butcher U

December 21st, 2025

Oh baby how can I ever get you back,

Unmet prayer, insidious invocation

Aside, there’s a charm to getcha back

Spells, I’m speaking as a witch

And you stopped listening.

Good. You don’t need to see my crystal skull, my rotten bones, my grey hairs or

My caving teeth, you spoiled boy you meet

Carbohydrates with a worldfull of smokeflavor, screaming beef

Brazen cattle, we tramp stamp boy fans

We have hunger, for other tastes more sweet

If I’m allowed

I’ll repeat

You were not a bad boy

You are now a bad man

You have the prerogative to change

Shirk and I have

The responsibility

To kill you

So what do you think about that

Fat man
Home Before Dark

September 26th, 2025

You will be presented, as an even trade,

Childhood, for a free fall to the open grave

You will have the choice, when presented,

To be afraid

To be wary at your post

To be a-quiverin’ in yer boots.

Soldier.

It’s time, you’re a hospice nurse,

Angelica.

You’re a shining star, that’s what you’re worth.
This is not a political poem

August 23rd, 2025

How right I am won’t prove me wrong

How left behind you see my mind

Won’t silence any song I have a throat

For singing, for singing is my kind

Of speaking with my friends and brothers

Oh my lovers

Love is mind
22. wet tears on my face

August 12th, 2025

I am asked to describe it. Not by someone, by a book I picked up to tell me what to do. Something needs to do that. Always. That’s what it feels like.

Someone has to tell me what to do with my face. Always. It will lead to that.

It will.
Will it last?

August 8th, 2025

My eyes are watering and I can not see, there’s been this very persistent pounding in my heart, my hands. My head. I took some pills to fall asleep. Why isn’t anyone attracted to me? I’m drowsy and falling asleep in my bed, isn’t there someone who wants to hold my heart? I know that I’m a little ugly. But it’s coyote season baby, learn to take a joke. I would water your garden; I would hold your hand; we are what we hold between us, are the storm, the rack.
Tippety-Tap, The Dancing Rabbit

May 10th, 2025

Tippety-Tap The Dancing Rabbit dances just for you

He takes a pretty penny and your pocket smiles at you

The dancing that you’ll see tonight will be a sheer delight

You’ve never seen a dancing rabbit nearly take to flight!

Your eyes fill up with flashing feet and a white fur coat that gleams

You laugh until your face feels like it’s splitting at the seams

Tippety-Tap The Dancing Rabbit takes a look at you

His eye is red and dancing, yes his eye is dancing too

He dances right, he takes the left, he makes an awful show

You’re seeing many more things than you ever thought you’d know

But Tippety-Tap The Dancing Rabbit took your pretty penny

And not just the one he took from you, in fact he has quite many

And each one has a face just like the one he pulls from you

So when the dancing’s done you know just what the crowd went through

Together in the dancing night! Together at the show!

Together we were merry once, apart from us, our pennies know

Tippety-Tap The Dancing Rabbit bowed low to end the night

Tippety-Tap The Dancing Rabbit owns the stage, alright.
Quandary 7:22

February 18th, 2025

I really have nothing to say, I’m just sleepy and feeling unuseful. This won’t be my best work. I’m just typing.

I got a rejection letter today, I started that another day. I can’t really tell what rhymes and it seems I’m high all the time. I’m just typing.

I listen to a lot of YouTube healers, carry it around my neck, I do, I listen on my lunch break. I can’t stop me express myself, but I got a letter in the mail.

Well actually I got an email.

Something about me isn’t quite right for them. They haven’t seen me, I have a tattoo of a pen. I don’t look quite right to anybody, about my beauty is on the fence and who wants to read me my voice is weird and my background is a history, there’s no fact here, hence nothing they’d like to try to pronounce dead-upon-scene, I haven’t the slack for academia, I’m writing at my own creed.

I’m just typing. I’m just typing. I’m just trying out a voice, I can’t spend my life writing seven of the same sentences over clouds over clouds over clouds again. The time is now, bitches, get up out of bed and be witches, bitches, it’s all gone to our heads, can’t you hear the horn now? A-woooooga, that’s a brass section, mama, wake up your daughter’s on reefer again.

I’m just typing. For the love of my life I could do better. I’m just typing. For the love of starvation I could eat nothing. I’m just typing. I could start a revolution right here in my bed. If only I could get all the bedsheets out of my head. What will they think that means?

You’ll go crazy. Don’t think about it. Get up and go somewhere else. You freak. Get up the nerve, sicko, get up the nerve. You haven’t seen me going over the Manitoba falls, sir, no sir you don’t.

Won’t is such a…word…you know?

God you have to be as strange as you can be to yourself between the gaps of your thoughts so you can take a pair of pliers to your wires and know it’s you who lightsed-out and not some copy of yourself on a seldom-heard-of freak of nature’s metacognition platform on x’s dime, no no no. I have too much to say.

You have no idea what you started until you’re dead. I’m just typing. How to convey how mad I am? I am irate, furious, shrieking even, but you’d rather I tear a hole in my body than open the unobstructed in your own and just listen for one fucking second.

I’m just typing.