habit and rancor

–

–

–

GJK, 16MAR2017

from WRIGHT THE BOOK

–

–

–

–

‘habit and rancor’

–

–

–

–

hello, predictable. hello, habit. hello shitty diner coffee

that i do so love with every fiber of my mortal being, every mote

of the ephemeral essence that is not me, yet, in truth, is entirely

me and you and every living thing that ever was and ever will be (which means nothing because time is a fiction) and because, as we have learned and understood for eternity — time is not real.

–

–

conversely, timelessness is also not real. confusion enters

the mind and sugar is stirred into the ‘brackish black liquid’

and down my gullet it goes and once again i proclaim:

–

–

Sentence structure be damned to the deepest bowels

of the most foul, vile and wicked lake of fire

that sentience itself has ever imagined within

the rancorous confines of earthly existence!

–

YAWP! grammar, to hell with thee! freedom, expression, caffeine! exaltation and liberty!

–

–

* * *

–

–

Advertisement

ignoring all

–

–

i sit contentedly ignoring all that surrounds

and focus only upon the internal realm

of consciousness in all its infinite, formless

and unknowable grandeur.  i am beauty and ugliness,

i am order and entropy, i am all

and i am nothing.

–

i laugh aloud and startle my neighbors in this common room

of this public house.  i alight from my overstuffed chair

and exit abruptly to smoke that cigarette

that awaits me in the shotgun seat of my own truck

and damn it is wonderful.

–

the sun shines on the smoke

and i disappear

completely.

–

–

GJK

9MAR17

–

–

i type with four fingers

—

and that is enough.

the others work well enough,

but with four my mind has time to float

a bit

yet remained tempered by focus

as sharp as a bushido blade.

—

GJK

3JAN17

12:24am

—

inspiration strikes

—

crack of aluminum pops silvery bright

crack of illusions pops moonlit blight

—

crack of thunderous thought smacks of

brilliance and light.

—

this is the idea that began with me

many cycles ago

many moons before

i even knew

who i was.

—

it was first in Oktober

when inspiration struck

—

it was first in December

when i learned what it meant

—

to be in love.

—

it was first in my youth

that i learned to put

pen to paper

it was my first revolt

to craft poetry from despair.

—

and now

love and poetry

is everywhere

—

even in this sickly glass

of tepid brew.

—

GJK

28SEP10

3:33am

—