Poetry 37 - Edgy First Sonnet Back

Rustic writing, off quiet vacation -
Writing sonnets, still a pain in the ass.
Like literary asphyxiation.
Fuck, man, I gotta pick up some more grass.

Nah, I'm not really a burnout just yet,
but I can't say I don't know any though.

If you came here for art,
you should be disappointed.

Poetry 36 - The Violin

Shaven wood.
Polished wood.
Colored wood.
Acoustics
of wood.

I quit.
It's a violin,
polished to a sleek,
dark brown texture -

Darting sound,
with a charming balance
between violent and silent.

The state of sophistication,
the smooth placement,
eloquent bow.

The bow -
reeking of rampant,
gentle progression.

I wonder if it tastes as good as it sounds...

Poetry 35 - Analogical Ladder

Writing sucks - no
It is cruel.

“It’s getting something off your chest,”
except it stays.
It is
the bitter cranberry juice stain on a white dress.

Nothing removes, rather
writing wiggles the dagger inside.

Grooving,
it doubles as a ladder.

Blood spurts, then climbs
the analogical ladder,
to leap from the roof
to the paper.

Wounds remain,
after forceful claws to communicate.

A hostage situation -
waterboard me ‘til I speak.
I’ll cough it all up,
and I’ll feel it shoot.

“Poetic,” projectile vomit.
More stains.

Poetry 34 - The First Caucus

Iowa is today:
Compton vs. the Sandwich.
I'm feeling hungry.

Poetry 33 - Granted Abilities

I did well
pretending to be a better version of me;
an MP3, sold with more exclusivity.

I am a cup of water,
posing as the sea.
To desert hikers -
there is no difference.

A picture book to the illiterate,
cryptic meaning -
empathy and eyes, the only tools to read it.
Sorry, Hellen Keller.

Granted abilities:
Eyes.
Empathy.
Gates to the same city,
separate cemeteries.

I did well jumping the fences I could not see.
It's like spotting symbolism the author didn't mean.

"All Men Are Created Equal" - A Small Reflection

Unfortunately, humans are animals, and “some animals are more equal than other animals.” While it’s nice to think we’re all the same and no one is better than the other, we are often either beneficiaries or victims of our circumstances. While this does not eliminate the ability to improve one’s state or establish oneself as equal in relation to whatever they wish (other people, specific people, gender, person of different faith), it does step upon that goal.

All humans are created equal when our genetic lottery is dismantled. It is not self-evident that we are all equal because of this, but it is self-evident that we all should be. Jefferson’s statement is a step forward with backward phrasing: “men,” as opposed to “people.” Jefferson is a beneficiary of his era, and his words a victim of it.

Poetry 32 - The Beach

Drag your wheels on sand,
the foundation of a world,
with windows shelled, pearled.

Beneath where you stand,
a city united under a cigarette butt flag.

The mayor, lavishly dressed,
ready to delve in.

I was your concrete boots,
when you went swimming last summer.