Hyenas cackling at the midnight star,
the drunken madness of idiot gods
blind to the conditions of what surrounds them.
Let them revel in hedonistic pleasures,
let wine spill from their lips onto the floor,
let it spray onto the mirrors
into which Narcissus gazes.
Laughter is the element of all things great;
whether of joy or of sorrow,
to guffaw at the world is to control it.
Its own opposite,…
We all love to be scared. The rush of endorphins
is a high we just can’t get enough of.
Though we thought we grew out of them years ago in the woods,
no one can resist a good ghost story.
Wait until it’s night, get real comfy, boys and girls.
Turn off all the lights and gather ‘round the campfire,
and sitting in the luxury of a padded Lay-Z-Boy throne,
listen to the horrors to watch out for…
This is my first working with automatic writing. At the breaking of dawn, after a night of strange drugs, even stranger people, and dancing and laughter, Eris took me over and that egotistical bitch decided to write a poem to herself through me.
This poem is dedicated to my muse, the avatar of Eris and the sweet chaos she holds in her heart.
I hear the beat of the universe
stomping down with…
It’s odd to see the painted nails,
violet with the violence of masculinity
vibrant with the energy of a fully erect phallus,
holding onto my cock
every single time I go to pee.
I’m an actor, baby!
I gotta perform my own gender,
day-to-day. Gotta keep the hegemony in place
with pants and suits and
the subjugation of half the race.
The best actors, though, are the ones that know how to improvise,
The mangoes were on sale at the grocery store
and I couldn’t help but buy them up.
Soon the Mango Queen come rushing back to me,
her image hazy in the sepia glow that nostalgia brings.
I couldn’t forget the sweetness of that mango queen,
how she flowed down your chin with a bite,
juicy, succulent, rich, and ripe.
I could never forget how I dreamed of the mango queen
and those distant lands…
Though we are naked under our clothes,
nudity is an onion, the soul it’s root keeping it together.
To be truly naked is to have the meat stripped from our bones.
To be truly naked is to embrace thanatos.
The soul must be unconstrained,
from time, from meatspace,
to be free of all clothes. Until then,
we cannot be naked enough.
Dedicated to the muse, my avatar of Eris’s bliss
Though I knew as Eris, the sweet tree where chaos blooms,
she begged to be known as Ereshkigal today.
Ebony as sin itself, she was shining obsidian in the sun,
warm to the touch and pleasing to the ear.
If you listened hard enough, you could hear the cacophony her very atoms sang.
Though together they were still, one choir of macrocosmic cohesion,
If I have cried,
please remember it is because I am lost.
Maps only give so much direction,
just enough to feel like I don’t know where to go
My compass points in wrong directions,
leading me to the places
far from where I’m meant to be.
Be patient, please. These tears are frustration,
built up from inadequacies.
None of us are right
and it’s hard to accept that,
given the narrative we’ve been…
To be it or not to be, it is not even a question.
Life, dear Hamlet, may be absurd,
you may feel pain and mountains of sorrow.
I dare you, instead of unwinding the mortal coil,
to climb those mountains you are feeling.
Does the sun not still rise upon those lofty peaks?
Will you not gain muscle with every tear shed,
with every word misspoken in anger?
To do or not to do, sweet prince,
This is my first rhyming poem in a long time and I’m surprisingly satisfied with it, which is odd because I usually hate my poems to be constrained. I’ve been sitting on this one for about a month now, hoping I’d have more to write on it. But after letting it stew, I’m happy with what I have now.
There are all these little people
doing little people things,
going to little people places,