A for Blog

The symmetry of love
let loose
holds the balance,
keeps the peace.

My skull is an occupied
sofa. When someone
makes a home in your head—
no room for poems.

Talk English, techie.
I just drive this thing.

It might not work,
invading raping
beating biting shooting
bruising abusing and debasing.

But then again they say
this is not the American way.

Now’s your once
in a lifetime chance.
Take a stroll
around my soul.
Hands off
the software, please.

You can stuff it up with lies,
you can stuff it up with trues.
Eat up and up and up
what’s on your plate:
the staff of life, your greens, your blues,
your chews, your bait, your fate.

How’s it going?
Where’s it going?
Why does it not stand still?
When’s it going?
What’s it doing?
Don’t let it go without you,
don’t let it go downhill.

I made a mistake
at Maths Club
in my youth.
Logarithms, algorithms,
then the aftermath.

A sandwich by moonlight
is not enough.
You need speckled linen shirts.
You need a bolt of lightning.
You need to jump on a faultline
some day soon.

Inside your pineapple shell
you have dreams
of being happy,
being well.

Love is God
antique and electronic,
lighting up the logic
of the past.

Love is a fine
fat grounded word
all above board

like me. I will not write
a poem for you,
I will not.