"going down the road, feeling

bad," over and over in

my head, walking down the road

put up the christmas lights last

spring, but didn't plug them in

’til two days before christmas

middle path motherfuckers

often get left behind in

this egotistic ass world

hidden symmetries revealed

in random unplanned moments;

art is hoping to catch these

another memory walked,

wishing my days were full of

vast wander without backtrack

futuristic emoji

of old 1994

Toyota truck’s parking brake

on shed, ramshackle rust roof

nailed into firm milled lumber

without half-inches shaved off

real walk one foot at a time

along real road with few cars

looking up to escape down

mushroom cap like feral mosque,

elven people performing

jihad against full-grown men

the existential drama

of white male American,

feeling powers diluted

with deep appreciation

for rust, my scrap metal pile

has found a permanent home

live like a blur, buzzing through

temporary existence,

hoping there’s hands on this wheel

absorbing ancient texts for

salvation from disconnect

felt in my daily travels

River poison from broken

jar beads up on garbage bag;

she sells poisons to people

freight train passing underneath

buzzbot electric tower;

simple-assed man snaps picture

nuclear family norms

no longer relevant in

this post-family era

metallic rust refreshed

with blast of stenciled spray paint

plus king-sized sharpie outline

thumbtacking pictures to dead pines

is dirtgod tumblr; I've got

nineteen crows following me

the patriarchy dies hard,

militantly producing

obedient womenfolks

elaborate universe

created according to

aesthetic geometries

searching for meaning in this

life an often futile act;

lately, I answer my heart

"there ain't no party like a

two-party political

system party!” said textbooks

at fringe of Loungewirthistan,

shadow dweller guerrilla

contemplates regenesis

solstice means incremental

steps back to springtime tinkers

with blossoms, brown rust, and rocks

napping on truck bench seat at

lunch, look up at train to see

opportunity pass by

freestyle sonnet #064: FIFTH-DIMENSIONAL NONSENSE GIBBERISH SONNET

Fifth-dimensional songbird mentions in deep space
of eternal torso - internal damage kept
minimal, then minimized further as I chase
lack of *I*; these barely concealed symmetries swept

same ol' same ol' down psychic rabbitholes - tired souls
grab at fragmented wholes and consider it as real;
I don't pretend to know shit, just jabber through holes
in routine where unconscious non-senses reveal

rawness beyond intellect's microscopic yokes;
astro-logic chokes on that back of brain *self*-doubt,
crash back to *MOAR!* civilized, non-serious jokes
to cover up innate dissatisfaction bout

of depressions. Third-dimensional distractions
designed to deny fifth-dimensional actions.

rarely mentioned patreon of dirtgod

gentrified infrastructure -

industrial traditions

painted progressively bright

turkey vultures stretching out,

drying their dew-frosted wings

in early Sunday sunshine

"love is like a butterfly"

try to tell myself through stares

at same stale reality

extreme close-up basketball

net, searching for remnants of

fresh-bodied exuberance

man's straight-line ruler doesn't

seem to mesh with universe

and fractal geometrics

"JET FUEL DOESN'T MELT STEEL BEAMS!"

said the ironic web ad

shilling six-dollar t-shirts

dying camera's last shot

before final destruction -

frustrated man’s ghost selfie

each industrial line stretched

taut, fastened tight, and taught to

remain in place “forever”

ravens appropriated

from viking banners stenciled

all over back yard flotsam

lessons of rust - our purpose

is designed by others; left

to ourselves, we become flakes

smokestack industries blossomed

decades ago; now wilting

southern towns return to earth

archival qualities of

ash always balances and

checks out of control empires

science cannot replicate

conditions necessary

to grow albino ghost pipe

recounting our lives' failures,

laughing about lost women,

commiserating in lounge

U.S. constitution not

sacred, not born from great god

hiding beyond these Earth clouds

melting buddha face still smiles

despite subjective nature

of the shit eyes be seeing

existence predictable

when observing examples

beyond your learned conceptions

broken people beget more

broken people beget more

broken people - BREAK CYCLES

color coordinating

my entire universe, all

pink velour track suit, black trim

simple home comes apart in

small increments; we piece it

back together best we can

geometric mosaic

of illegit arts spread like

Mesoamerican corn

born a ghost - unseen but still

wailing, hoping physical

world realizes I exist

Sir Chillington Loungewirth builds

prophet-able pipelines right

through poor people’s dim eyeballs

the industrial act of

carving idiotic word

“lulz” into hard metal spike

leisure class firepit strengthened

by burning haiku prayers

of index card resistance