madness has its methods

i watched a jogger running by
amid the heat of day;
she seemed to be at perfect peace
although i couldn’t say
with any certainty, of course,
she was that way for sure —
but madness has its methods and
my lens, its aperture

i sat upon a sandy beach
and saw a couple there;
they seemed to be in deepest love
and free from hurt or care.
this was, of course, imagining,
and no doubt, premature —
but madness has its methods and
my lens, its aperture

i read the words you wrote last night
of places you have been,
and realize a few more ways
that “now” is made from “then” —
the heart that you would show to me
is not one just to tour,
but i have what i have to give.
it’s not there as a lure —

i’d love it if you trusted me,
and felt less insecure;
but madness has its methods, and
your heart, its aperture

the lasting truth

i do not want the public face;
i want the truth that hides away,
selective of the time and place
wherein it will devour its prey

i want the message that i know
will mean the end of entropy,
the dissipating seasons, and
the riddle of identity

for as the blue turns into black,
the mind will fade before the sight
of lasting truth that pierces veils
and guides us from mistaken sorts
of light

fair, the blue explosion

fair, the blue explosion reigns
in my dreams and down my drains
colors sparkle, fizz, and flick
      though you’re such a selfish prick
      you think all of this is me
      blame me for your misery
like the patterns shifting o’er
eyelids closed and worries sore
yet my visions shift and list
      you are such a narcissist
      like a toddler saying “mine”
      all i’ve seen you do is whine
in the streaming colors there
visions pure and good and fair
green and blue in tandem work
      you are just a stupid jerk

What All We Do

If I wait to take my medicine, I can write a lot of poems before I start having seizures. I have about another hour before things start to get really bad, so I’m taking advantage of it for now. I was trying to post 48 new pieces in 24 hours; I couldn’t tell you why. It’s 8:13 AM as I write this, and I am in a hotel room with a day’s drive ahead of me.

Why we do what all we do,
I’m not sure and nor are you.

Climates change and tempers vary,
All of it seems arbitrary;

Some connection happens freely,
Most of us are frightened, really.

Couplets drone in empty sounding,
Hearts that hearken to keep pounding.

Why we do what all we do?
I don’t know, and nor

Do you

dichotomies and binaries

people make images; images make people.

you can’t find meaning in life unless you take it with you on the search, but
you can’t take it with you unless there is meaning in life.

love is not about what you say, it’s about what you do; but
saying you love someone is among the things you do when you love.

rhyme is like tonality; it’s outlived its usefulness —
unless you have a use for it, in which case never mind.

the difference between judging actions and judging people
is that the first one makes you wish they would change their ways,
while the second one makes you want to kill them.
i consider that a significant difference.

roses aren’t red;
violets aren’t blue –
poetry’s useless
when it’s not true.
and possibly,
even when it is.

con artists these days
typically invoke the language of math and science.
in response,
math and science
have taken to using the methods of con artists.
what advancement.

logical confusion is the source of much trouble between people
and trouble between people is the source of much logical confusion.
so, we have that going for us.

my father’s way

my father’s way was one that i
had trouble taking by;
for many were his silences,
but still some time to cry

my father’s way went through the wood
and into clouded lands,
upon a path of ancient dirt,
made out of shifting sands

there’s permanence among the trees,
there’s trouble, too, as well;
the rebel whispers of his dreams
before he comes to yell

my father’s way seemed so resigned;
to stay within the good —
so much i saw, and chattered through,
but never understood —

i never