July Poem 13: The Room for Mysticism


The original answer.

To blame for the empathy

And magic in my life.


Like games engaging a conspiracy

Keeping us fat and listless.


Not like cellphones,

A higher standard of kinship.

Only the cellphone.

Categorized as the wheel of being.


Or the internet,

The instructor.


It has an odd ability

To personify the people

That taught it to think.

July Poem 10: Joint Papers Short Stint in Meaning

As Sad Strands of Cigarette


As story contest describes

Having to wait: we wait.

And rip the end of a Marlboro

Compressing meanings.


Dried banana

Peels much of the you

With lord as I know.


They never used it

Translating Henry about both

Him and I.


And I could with toothpaste.

Spent religious debate

Resurrecting small strips.

July Poem 8: If We are Toothpaste Stories

The same cigarette, this anecdote

Is out with my other buddy.

We had stopped by stories.


He had some type of toothpaste

And smoked it as if it were,

When I had been hanging.

It wasn’t like weed. But

I figured it would work.


I told him that I did know

Of a trick that squealed it

Across the Crest Gel toothpaste.

But I pulled out and it was too harsh to hold in.

Buddy had combed like I was going to puke.


Toothpaste tasted bad and burned

Across the throat of the schoolyard

As you were hoping it was a grave.

Joints actually had worked for me one night recently.

The toothpaste was a famously complex syntax.

And when they with an unused tube

Of no layering, they were lit,

And they would curl name.


However, this was entertaining

Even if I felt meaningless.

Words out a black and red end

Squeezed. Roll them in toothpaste.