Confession to pagan god of lunar festivals

i can confer from my dashboard period
my reasons myriad
and finishing for vanquishing
that all that has come and waited to leave after they got off
questions for those who bought off
and not for him who is set in period furniture
or those who learned in chairs of yore
-waited for the financial score
and reliance on dollars spewed across the floor
in a bloody mess
made quests for those with the best
or those with bags of 'cess
i confess, i am the one with less &
i hate to use dirty water to bless,
and that theres nothing thats mine
besides her who i try to impress
and I belong to noone less
than those who fill up my time
with silly rhymes in my head
or thoughts of books so often should be read
a blankness that should be fed
but instead, oh instead
i distill questions of who i was but am not
the world forgotten by the world forgot.

--

how do you make it all seem real?
i find it hard to fit the parts
with open pages

is it me or just the season
cuz im feeling less inspired now
perhaps I'll get out
more often

we always knew it wasn't easy
to recall the past and write it down
my memory wont serve me half as well
as photographic stills

just sitting on the shelf
they cant help themselves
they cant help but glare

our eyes are simply cameras
I myself, just a voyeur
my head is filled with darkrooms
taking names and printing colors

is it wrong to create confusion
with attempts at reckless thoughts
in print?
Whatever keeps you interested
while im connecting dots

# 101

101 posts for those with jokes and hopes for the most
and not for the closed or those who happen to have chose
the path which ultimately shows who is strong
and who has held out for something beyond the rainbows
or those nights on moon lake; all the walks i never got to take
and all the laughter I never had to fake.
-A schedule of routine stakes
as easy as spearing fish in a lake.
bada-boom, bada-quake.
the only one who appears to erase.

Hey baby, you wanna go for a ride?
Don’t tell me no, cause legs like that
make me think of drippy stains
and don’t be shy, you know
my wallet is good for it.

Your hazel tone is
always such a good sip.
Wait what? God no, I don’t need
a stove anymore.
I’ve learned my lesson.

I’ve learned it’s not about potency
but rather the taste you leave
when you get all up in my
moustache. Makes me
unable to think straight.

Alright, so are you game?
You want to do it in the piece
that cools you off?
No, not the one with insulated
plastic covering.

I’m talking about that black number.
The one I found out back
in the dumpster. Of course
You remember
so let’s do this quick.

I’m ready
to crash with you
and lay awake
for the remainder
of the day.

Jesus, please crucify the economists

Though the change machines
whir and clang and scream
and the money counters
flip and flap around us,
the market makes me think
that what I need's a drink.
A strong one with no mixer,
the very cheapest liquor.