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The Sock-Monkey As Alone

This is a sandbox for society's damage.

limerick about tragedy

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- January 27, 2024

Limericks are best at comedy

This does not change life's tragedy

I don't want to cry

But the tears decide

If we learn the truth's absurdity

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What if Oedipus was my dad? (a reframing of the past.)

- January 31, 2024

"To start with, here is a list of things I hate." -Tim Rogers. I based my life on a lie, but the reality is there is a new mode of expression... It is irony through irony as sincerity or as it used to be called sarcasm. Tim Rogers was my hero who I stalked (I didn't actualy stalk him I @ mention him four or five times on Twitter). then one day after a spree of @ mentions he @ mentioned me back, with a napalm bomb of reality, just the two-letter word "hi" and I was destroyed. The important thing here isn't that Tim Rogers owned me (which he did!) it is that for some reason this articulate funny man brings out the inner troll in internet losers like me in a way that is embarrassing to the species. It is li...

Grace of God make us Holy.

- January 08, 2024

With nothing but a pound of flesh and the look in your brown eyes. sometimes I feel a confession of hearing this prayer of delight. hide a reaction, begging for trust that I care for the sensual... not to be consumed by this lust as you undress like a ritual. your pale nakedness honors god. A prayer full of confusion as much as your song is a bond, please articulate this lesson... as your spread naked to see your body has a temple's warmth. A hallelujah song of the dream inside there has been a storm. You're the bread of this church... in gratitude, I drink the wine. there is a fire but hope hurts. You're a light leading the blind. Your music is a heartfelt drum like a war-cry fighting darkness. Victory rests on your tung. Your wet labor will bear witness. The reflecting light of the moon though it is the light's glory between your legs, I am consumed... by the grace of g...

The impossible task

- February 12, 2024

I am Feeling like I am already dead I want to know, why? is there no hope that this life will improve or is it a posture? or worse can I not face the sincerity The unironic bleakness of trying to be honest To myself for once This isn't the time for rhyme and meter whatever time it is it is close to midnight The glow from the screen of my laptop as I type honesty is respecting your time without it becoming the business of being a door-to-door salesman of framing every indignity I have seen this week betrayal, coercion, and goodbyes of being blamed and threatened without even knowing why I keep telling myself The impossible task of this poem Is being interesting but sane