Hoist not
upon thine own petard
skepticism and cynicism
given Epicureanism
and Stoicism
Satanism and BDSM
lead straight to Jesus.
Believe your own boom or bondage be thine. – mh clay
It’s 2042 and I’m eighty years old. I was born in 1961. I’ve seen a lot in my eighty years and I’d like to talk about or tell you about how things are different now than they were back then. How things have changed since the seventies, the eighties and nineties, the two thousands up to 2022. August 8, 2022 …
Purchase an organic
parcel for your body
friend whence
it leaveth your soul
to bluster and rot
among life explosion
riot in putrid
genesis to yore.
Post it pre-paid return, keep the cycle going. – mh clay
Can’t believe I’m not here anymore! Look, my son is looking up at me. He’s waving to the ceiling! He’s waving to me! He’s thinking, might he cut off a lock of my hair? For future cloning? He’s thinking…What!? Too much hassle! Won’t be around to see me cloned anyway! Son, are you sure bong hits are appropriate now? Gee, …
My whole goal in
life seems to be
not to puke in me
mouth and swallow
again
go figure
only one thing to pursue
and that’s the mystery
free mind to contemplate
and dream not wallow
in memory but rejoice
in it both good and bad
as time learning to be
better or done with the
past – intrusive memory
be darned! – is a worthy
goal
and theology allows us
to love the cruelty of nature.
Happy oinkers, we; rejoicing in our wallows. (Praise God!) – mh clay
You’re the same as
your mother
don’t you see
living in DNA harmony
smiles held too long
with laughter robust
slow together do combust
particles which wave
insistent to comply
bursting kaleidoscopic ambrosia
lie
of heaven
the prism within
a tear drop’s precipitous
fall.
What are we, anyway? – mh clay
Hi, my name’s Arch and I live inside. I’m inside him, Eddie. I come out at night while he’s sleeping. Out of Eddie’s anus I crawl. Like a nocturnal form of tapeworm, only I go exploring at night. But I’m no worm. I’m small, that’s for sure. Small enough to live inside him and crawl out of his asshole every night. …
I gaze in smoky pastures
of provolone
leaf celery bound
to dairy cows’
cheese solving
anxiety (and other world trouble)
from heights of depths
refined in pre-anxiety
ruminating.
It takes some chewin’ to churn out cheese. – mh clay
Her eyes so sapphire
I wanted them for a ring
not that I would gouge
them out, dry them,
and dim their luster
but that they may live
on my finger
staring corn-flower blue
forever
(in a little house)
on the prairie.
An unsung subsidy. – mh clay
He awoke as General George Armstrong Custer. What’s more, he was in the thick of the fight. The Indian took stock. “It’s ironic,” he told himself, “but I’m General Custer.” Just then an arrow flew past his chin. The Indian as Custer looked around. He and his men were trapped! On the crest of a tree-less rounded hill! With hostile …
