The Hypnotic Spilt of Consciousness into Reason and Religion; Staring Henry the Imaginary Uplifting and the Drunken We-Wasted on His Faith –Sobering; Or There Is A Hole In The Boat

         

Other animals seem to have a better grip on life than We.  We have no grips on anything but Our porters from Comstock Michigan. The deep dark gun pickles are swinging inside Our watermelons. Like all animals We must mature over the urge to do the die dance and learn to be lovers of livers. We are not the happy plastic containers We pretend to be.  We are really hungry and angry about it. Not even a unicorn asks to buy us wine or a cat purrs for our hands to praise her. Give us some of your wet food pussy.  Blame the war or the shortage of beer, dragons, miracles or drugs or cheeseburgers.  It has gotten to point where We tell Ourselves We will live forever and then laugh -relieved that We won’t. We usually try to keep these tossed salads to Ourselves. Usually We lie about the ham, future, gods, peace and trick Ourselves into taking another slurp of life bullion but tonight We listen to Pick Trake’s muddled voice and We know why he stopped the fantasy. We have no reason to sing lies either. “Smoked my last..” Even the sun will die.  We wonder if it has the choice to go early… Why doesn’t it just end the shining tomorrow? Why can’t it be an example of free choice?  Perhaps if We had a better upbringing We’d smile a little whiter- white as snow.  We don’t see straight.  The scotch – so this is what 18 years of glen tastes like. The reason why We plant that happy bullshit is because We need to hear it every Monday.  Sometimes many times a Monday and there is no one to water us so We must muster what We can. Tonight there is nothing that comes to mind that can take away the rising axes –forgive us of critical thought.  Another sip of porter.  Thank history for porter. Losing ones warm blanket sucks.  Realizing you’ll never get it back is a blood bath. More hot blood please. Our best friend is drinking himself under the table. He is so bad at drinking. No pacing. His beer is all gone and We still have two bottles left. Sorry sucker. Please be more conscious next Blank Blank. Damn you Blank.  You make us sit here and watch you sober up.  Lets get real.  We are pros at keeping a thing going past the point when it should stop going.  Hold on. We need a smoke. We’d like a mushroom loaf –honey please. That shit is bitter and makes us want to up up on Our tongue tongue. O.  Go get more beer beer already. Please don’t tell Henry We miss him. It is hard to let go of the fanatic. We don’t want him to know that We are drunk and talking about him again.  He gets so faked surprised that We are still holding his braid for ransom or proof.  He gets off at us.  He never saw us this sober. Fuck Henry. Fuck you Henry.  We ate better crab from a tree. Mother blank bank seashell dog ma.  There is a little person who lives next door.  We say our life is difficult as vacuum repairwomen but she has a toddler that is the same size as her.  Holy dicks, We don’t know where she has the hope to keep swallowing lies. We think that’s when We’d drive a car into a springtime river. “Fuck I am too little die,” We can hear her scream now at the last minute. That’s a good lesson. You don’t know how much you want to die until you live in faith. We uncover the beds’ bugs.  We like to lie with people about sex.  Yeah We have sex. O yeah all night guilty baby. Right now We’d rather listen to someone play guitar and scream Holy Cabbage. That’s fucked. We are emotional failures.  Junkies for songs. Anoint us.  We wish the psalm trees were true or plausible.  Things could be great meatballs. We’d have a clear path to the shade of Hades and get that son of bitch without responsibility. Nancy!  But insanity is the only thing religions promises… Death means heaven, the holy book whispers but We know better.  We know it promises holy chickens chicken pecks.  Just like life but at least in reality We can grab a porter or Glen, Our good tasting 18-year-old scotch. Our heaven -he’ll be the crystal pool and the spring of life. That fucking apple is full of illogical worms. You eat it. Fuck trance pie Good damn it. Half of what We say is meaningful. The other part is mumbled riddle ridicule clues. Mudder ludder. Who is that pissing on the window? Come here and give us the holy beeersssss. We need a holy smokie. Another holy token. Want to light one? We have wet matches. Fuck you Henry.  We are keeping the braid. We don’t have it with us.  We gave it to a head doctor.  She’s gonna make it so you can hold your liquor.  Stupid fucking -chive -We were gonna eat that. Damn you Henry, why you piss on Our chive plant?  We were gonna feed the kids with it and now you gone and poisoned it.  We have no more patience for you and your imaginary uplifting pissing religions. There is a hole in the boat. Reason does us better –We’ve drank Ourselves sober and We are patching the hole with material matter. 

 

 

 

 

  

I Expect

 

I expect that very shortly

you will turn your direction

inward and ask yourself

some very poignant questions

that will lead you to change

your view of yourself and

how you behave in the world

You want to be a good and so

in a little bit you’ll stop

your foolishness and stand

confident in a peace

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Or not

Begin Again

 

 

It is spring.  I dream of the forest mother

the deep and lost lake grandmother

 

 

I’m lost in the city daughter

broken by the roads and hands

that I hold or hold me

 

it is beginning again

inside of me

the flood of life and hope

 

I hope for an egg sandwich

I hope for new shoes

I hope for hands strong

enough to pick you up

 

 

my mother, my grandmother

my daughter

 

I am alone in the universe

I am free in the world

I am rebelling one small

poem at a time

I am redefining

where I fit.

 I am

making room for you

 

 

 

I will hold you when your

body rocks with seizures

when you are too weak to make

it to the bathroom

when you are too weak

to pull the weeds from the garden

I will defend you

in this land of male deities

who see you as a market they can

dress and bend and infest

 

 I fight for your will

A Book Of Poems

I know she is out there

knifing limpid lines and for her

I take a moment to hurt

harder than I do when

I usually hurt for someone

 

I have written this dear poet

before –begging her to live

but last night she died again

I fell asleep with her corpse

on my face  

 

When I woke she was not in bed

Looking out the window

unto the still condos  she

stood without a shirt

Exposed her back and her scars

from other wars

 

I picked her up and placed

her back on my face

so I could hear

her heartbeat and enhance

the static of this universe

I challenge you to live in your skin

I challenge you to live in your skin

 

To live today as tomorrow the sun will explode

To live love and energy and passion for your own heart

To let yourself feel what you feel and to be what you are to be

Do not let them kill you

 

Reach and grab and make the world your world

 

Follow me when I call out

Freedom will not die in you

 

Do not let them limit you

Do not let them define you

Do not listen to their bullshit 

 

 You are god

 

You are a rainbow of opportunity

You are promise of a future

 

Your art -your work is badly needed

 

When I call out to you, come and race before

me. Demand your potential -your possibility

 

Live as today is your last day to fuck or breathe

or march for peace

 

Share this last meal with me

Share this last song

This embrace -embrace

 

Live and see how different -how magical your

mundane stupid body can feel

The Pretty People

they are tv anchor ready –polished

white teeth- hair perfect

their skin smooth and youthful

their hairs plucked-shaved

their luscious fabrics

ironed and clean

I see them in shops, at the school

and at the parties –even in the sawdust taverns

these pressed people

make it look effortless

to have beautiful shoulders and heads

they have gold watches and silk under things

it is wild the way they look

so thoughtful of their appearance

and the world that must look at them

Who the fugg do you think

they are fooling?

what are they after?

don’t they work?

don’t they have quickies before going out

don’t they smoke or drink coffee

don’t they paint or play in the dirt?

don’t they eat cheeseburgers with both hands?

don’t they drink hot chocolate

or get eager with cookies?

don’t they have joyous fits

or break-dance or kick up?

Is everyone I see coming

from a job interview?

Nobody Warned You

How normal and well rounded
your loneliness would grow
or how you would be alone
and not even realize it most
of the time

-going about
your errands as you hate
the mudder dugger world

Hate the sparrows or the newborn
blades or the dead fish on bottom of the ocean
or cherry blossoms or the red leaves of fall
You’re not the first one. Hatred is the normal
tool used to solace disgust, pain or loneliness.

O feel your anger to hell and back around
the corner -up the hill hate the gray squirrel
or the fat smoker if it helps.

I don’t give a fly flip
just get out of my parking space
you raving lunatic

You’d be alone even if you
loved the universe. Even if you could
love your self -a hand job is still a hand job
genius

update on annieepoetry

update on anniee

We’ll Do What Big Business Did To Canada’s Air

 

 

I am starting a smokers club. All smokers are invited

to join.  We are going to go in front of the capitol and blow

smoke at everyone.  We are going to walk around and blow

smoke at people. It is going to be our hobby, our purpose.

 

We will stink the whole square up and if they complain

we will ban the bible or milk or mothballs.  We will smoke

outside, our big pipes and cigars puffing, our little cigarettes

smoldering in the Midwestern polluted air.  

 

We will smoke outdoors and then go indoors and stand

very close to anyone who turns their nose up at us

We”ll stand right next to them breathing and cupping

our sweet butt smell at them. We’ll cough and spit black goo

out of our mouths -out of control we’ll get I promise 

Lots Of People Have Hobbies

Lots of people have hobbies

you know -knitting, drinking tea,

playing sports or cards

 

Scrap booking, collecting automobiles

-stuff like that.

Things to occupy their off hours

 

Smoking is my hobby

 

I smoke

I smoke. I do not smoke in my house. 

I have a cat.  I do not think my cat

needs to inhale my cigarette smoke. 

I accept and respect animals that do not smoke.

 

I understand smoking is bad

for my health( and Dixie’s too). 

It is dumb, like eating a cheeseburger

or eating pound of tuna in front a cat. 

 

It is bad for me like diet pop. 

It is bad for me like driving cars. 

It is bad for me like war.

 

I never saw a Governor

trying to ban war though

-so maybe smoking is worse 

 

How many people died from WAR?

There is not a clear answer.  

People know how many people

died from car crashes or cigarette smoke

but they do not know how many people died from war.

 

When I use the word war I am referring to all war

related deaths, including genocide and democide.

I am including all acts of violence by groups

of persons against other persons.

 

I consider torture an act of war.  

I consider slavery an act of war. 

I believe starving people is an act of war.

That is my idea of war.

 

How many people have the drones killed?  

How many people died in the Iraq war?

How many  people died from war since 1909?

In one year, on the planet earth, how people have died from war?

 

These are questions that are on my mind.    

I want to ban war.  That is my goal. Let me ban war.

 War is not a choice for most people that find themselves in war.

 One day there is peace and the next there is war.  

 

War is out of most peoples control.  I am against that.  

I am for freedom and choice. I am for peace.

I’d Like To Place An Order For 2000 Drones

I’d like to place an order for

2000 drones please

May I get them this afternoon

 on same day delivery? 

I’ll pay extra

-I’m very eager to get my drones

and start the murderous

rampage of my future

 

 

You’ll not take my

tomatoes without a drone

farmer brown 

I Don’t Trust These Good Guys

I don’t trust these good guys

 

They have drones -I don’t

Its competition

 

They’ll rape me with

their drones

I have to have drones

to send out before their

drones’ get me.

 

This is the game

I have to kill before I am killed

The other big brains want to kill me

So I am going to kill them 

 

 

The Drones Are Getting Better

the drones are getting better

someday they will be so good

you will only have to push one

button (instead of 17)

to send the missile down

on top of someone’s fat head

 

The drones are headed for

better maneuver times

 

So many positives the drones have

they will kill the whole world

and not lose a good guy 

Anyone Could Have A Drone

 

Anyone could have

 a drone and hang out in my

corn field -waiting for me to plant 

-waiting and then gun

my dumb ass down. 

 

They could send them in

the strawberry patch and demand

 strict obedience 

 

And even I the great land owner

would lie down in the dirt and grovel 

and die

It Is Easy To Imagine A Thousand Drones Flying

It is easy to imagine a thousand drones flying in

on your wedding day dropping flowers,

streamers, confetti, balloons and missiles

To you and your new life, go out and multiply

the drones need target practice and more hands

to push their beautiful buttons.

 

It’s the new soldier, home by dinner

The lifeless wreck that kills the entire village.

 

The ultimate sandwich – blood sausage

There Are Drones In My Cereal Box

There are drones in my cereal box. 

They are in my coffee beans.

There are drones in the dryer. 

The drones are everywhere

taking pictures, sending the pictures back

to the nerds who are playing the drone games

 

There are drones in the nighttime sky

and in the bright morning blue –hovering

in plain sight so that all the town folk could see them

if they just looked.  What goes bump in the night?

 

It’s the drones and they are pretty and shiny and save lives.

They are digging in my cabbage and bending the tops

of the pine trees and they kill people

lots of people -the drones don’t care who

but the nerds, well they have orders.

Soup Kitchen

 

 

You will never  hear me

say things are fine

in the kitchen

 

I will always dream of a better

bread or a taller cake

 

Damn it –All the butter is rancid

Piss Off High Things

I woke up from a dream about you 

-the one that I keep having

that I never tell anyone

about (Selene doesn’t count).

What is the point to speak a dream

to a fat hoarder human

 

Who’ll never guzzle inside

my brain or in my lungs or my…. 

It’s a shame, though

It was rather risky with all

the grabbing and swishing

and the way your eyes

became the ocean -well

 

Sometimes I think, like you I have

Helio’s hands but then that

old and hurtful  Mnemosyne comes

back and I realize

 

You, you are dead Henry

like my brother Jesus, you are dead. 

Is there a heaven for poets? 

Not that I need to go anywhere

but it seems a waste -all

this effort- if it doesn’t piss off

Shakespeare or Blake or Uranus

or you, Henry

Auto De Fe For The Strong And Silent Type out loud

Quarks inside the Atom

I tried to paint your picture

but it came out looking

like a forest and then I said,

look at the forest and then, the rock

kids said, what a weird little forest.

And I said, well of course it is,

you didn’t think I’d love

anything big or normal.

For hells bells I wouldn’t. 

I like your quarks the way they are

 

I Am Everything Without You

I am everything without you

 but being a minimalist

I want nothing and nothing is what I have

 when you are walking by my side

 

The red leaves with the mold

smell and the soft soil under

our feet is the most important thing

we have ever shared

 

and the blue sky that hangs

highs above is all I ask

if this and you are to last

don’t give me spanish silver or flash

frozen cherries but release your simple

sigh of the world and its madness

with your hand open for mine

Auto De Fe For The Strong And Silent Type

I spent a life trying to explain why

my vagina didn’t make me worthless

but my heart never got it.

I tried to prove I was as accomplished as any man

who ever played but when I played my song

with the composure of  god

they said in surprised tones,

you’re pretty good for a girl.

 

I tried to show I was strong and brave

as any dick so I became a soldier

but when they brought

the dead citizens in trucks -balls of water gathered at

my eyelids and my body covered itself in

cold sweat bumps and vomit puddled my mouth.

 

I tried to say I was as well spoken

 as any  preaching stick but when the mob

came with the jeers and cheers,

 I stumbled over my words, missed the step up

tore my white suit, and exposed my sexual organs 

Embarrassed I covered myself and gagged my mouth

 with my heart’s black cloth

 

From my womb generations

have slipped out and raised

their fists in the morning light. 

I did not cry out like a man

but kept the pain inside as a secret.

When they saw no expression on my face

they looked inward to their heart’s coward.

 

I wanted to prove I was as self-reliant

as any ball sack but when I moved

 into the woods and grew my own food

and butchered my bull

they dragged me out from under my quilt and

built a funeral pyre  and tied me in the center of it.

They pilled the logs I had chopped for winter on top

 of me  in perfect order to guide

the flames  up my calves

to my thighs, and finally my eyeballs boiled.

 

I did not cry out like a man

but kept the pain inside as a secret.

When they saw no expression on my face

they looked inward to their heart’s coward.

 

 

So filled with lust and awe

they bound me with my Sunday apron strings

Hammered forks into my wrists and ankles,

banged me against the table 

and crucified me inside the kitchen

 

With my pruning knife

they gut me and hung my entrails

on the line, to dry out in the sun

and later stuffed with sausage.

 

I did not cry out like a man

but kept the pain inside as a secret.

When they saw no expression on my face

they looked inward to their heart’s coward.

 

 

I spent billions of lives trying to example why

my vaginas didn’t make me worthless

but all of my hearts never got it so with the rage

of a thousand supernovas and the blood thirst

of  humankind I did not cry out like a man

but kept the pain inside as a secret.

When they saw no expression on my face

they looked inward to their heart’s coward.

 

I murdered with their fervent lip prayers

in my ears and left an ocean of nuts and dicks.

I flooded the entire earth with spilt semen,

and called what I did, good and holy, leaving the

wombs and breasts to rule over

the lowly sticks and lumps

who are now and forever

forced to  grovel for their menstrual blood blessings

 

Excuse me but thats what happens when

Wisdom is dismissed