if it matters I have a ha mad suit

Hey Henry, how’s the job?

O the world is laid off and swine

flu is choking the neighbors my Henry.

My Henry never answers

or shows himself

and so I learned in the search to find him

he is imaginary. He is a  lie so old and used to

answer anything that takes time or thought

to discover. He has many other names like

god or father. If he ever existed he is dead

now and will be forever. Mourn if you must.

I am still here writing profane poems

and soon, very soon –give or take

a hundred years- I will

be a master of the lies or truth.

In the end it will not matter

Someone has mowed the grass for the first

time since last summer and wars are being lost or

won like they were three thousand years ago

and before at the tip of a sharpened stone in the hands of ancestors

My how evolution moves on in its constant revolutions

Now the weapons are atomic with drones to drop them

Far as anyone can tell since the universe specked

in existence it has never ceased in its low vibration

of magnets and cells in an infinite or finite search

for the perpetual molecules arranged by

chance or breath or equitation

As a hair on a big toe or the graphite in a pencil

or a coffee bean roasted and chewed

to test the flavor – All is complex and fleeting

asinine ellipses of fractal portions and all goes

out and in mastering distances with beats

we are told our human mind cannot comprehend.

My life is simple.  It is a monk’s life

without hard labor or the confines of  sacred

knowledge. I am able to pluck a dove’s feathers

or reinvent the telescope without the fear

of rushing stones or the old rope neck

I can say there is no god or I am god or god is a donkey

without the fear of cigarette burns on my fuzzy vagina

my war is a private black-hole where insanity

is the only causality and tranquility the ripe

reward of the endless suck and plunder

How dumb of my kind to strive and contort

with sacred muscle and the holy bomb

when the gentle universe obeys

breath and imagination as an excited

lover hopeful to breed experience and diversity

for as long it wills

Such a shame that the all

cannot flip a switch to light a

flame or lift a handle for something pure

as I can without the weight of eternal kneeling

or ghastly superstition

I wish to put my hands on you

if it matters I have a ha mad suit.

We can at least sing songs together

Please don’t cough on me

my lawn mower lover

I do not have any clover tea

but I can boil water to cauterize

the hemorrhage of your uncertainty

or soothe your fear with rising steam

as some did for the father in childbirth

not so long ago.

When the woman was hemorrhaging to death

they dumped boiling water on her to save her

life and scar her.  It is a risk to gamble

with me but perhaps we will use rationality

and modern science as I do in baking pie

and writing poetry or killing bacteria

Doubt is just the beginning

of healing insanity -thank

history for reason.

Thank evolution for me

There is no yucky religion

to confuse my mind and make

me want death