WHARVED

Insistent Lights – 20:00GMT

Obtrusive flickers on sultry skies–
who makes them, and what’s the deal?
A thread can weave a coat,
a person can build a library,
a consciousness can dismantle matter.

So, why the insistent lights?
It feels like a plea for alliance.
Are we meeting up with our cosmic brethren
once and forever? What will it take
to bring our existence to the galactic standard?

Disengage distractions devised to disrupt
the true creative process–fragment output
and label it in as many ways as possible
without waxing trivial.

Choices dissolve ambition and the joy of making.
Then time comes in, the ultimate limiter
of consistency and connectivity.

However minute everything may seem,
there may likely be reasoning
behind even the most pointless roadblocks.
GO TO BED
is what the oppressor tells its obedient tenants.

I really wish I could use my arms.
I always wake upon the wrong side of the floor.

Thursday Aficionado – 17:56GMT

Caroline is a Thursday aficionado, never much cared for what the rest of the week has to offer. Caroline is a Thursday aficionado, decided that if she needed to devote a day to merriment, the somewhat transitionary day near the end of the week would suffice. Caroline is a Thursday aficionado, and in the near future, she’ll take her love of Day 5 into the high school classroom. She plans to bring cake doughnuts (just dry enough) for her improving students, with the promise of sprinkles if they ace the next quiz. Caroline is a Thursday aficionado who hopes those damn kids will volunteer to receive a decent education through incentivized sugar doling. Perhaps they’ll even find a fondness for Thursday that they never knew was there.

I really wish I could remember anything I’m saying here. Maybe they’re listening. I doubt it.
My nose itches.

Indiscriminate Minds – 06:37GMT

Indiscriminate minds
mold old pita bread
while extolling the intricacies
depicted in The Lorax–
just as a matter of fact.

No time like the present–built into
the inscrutable molting pattern–
for a splash in the unsalvageable
concrete turnstile lifestyle,
no matter what our compatriots
might mouth in opposition.

Hell, you could go for a while
without betraying anybody’s trust,
and wouldn’t that just be neat?
That would mean that you’d deserve
to be on your best friend’s right shoulder
while he reads his vows
on a sacred summer afternoon.

Indiscriminate minds
hold old cheetah breath
in the highest of all esteem–
and esteem-related sincerity–
while plunging obliquely
through the ever-stacked ideology
touted as ne’er-do-well yodeling.

I really wish they’d loosen this jacket,
whoever they are. It’s cutting off circulation.

Oblivion – 15:51GMT

Did you think the world would end?

I’m regretting that I ended up in here;
can’t read or write or draw.

Yesterday (it feels like yesterday)
I detected a 6% chance of oblivion
coming on, like a light precipitation
stalled by the height of the clouds.

Were it to have more gravity,
a poor excuse for brevity,
I do genuinely feel like the world
would have stood a chance to–at least–
become toast, a crispy roach’s paradise.

But as it stands now, every day
of our consumption
is another plastic nail
in the coffin of our lovely carelessness.

I really wish I could use my arms.

Grooves – 14:41GMT

Dig the grooves–
fixate raw emotion;
orange teleprompters stimulate senses,
falling down through the psyche.
Pen failings, orangeness
essential in the plunge
to crusty bits of exploded massacres
amongst the windfalls of intoxicating merriment
all boiled down to one endeavor
at one single point in time,
hopscotching on the lines of external graphics.
Internalized choosing–who’s choosing?
Everyone’s choosing! How are we to progress,
we beings,
when we always hark back to the past
and fling names, earthbound, flattening.
Not in the air, not in a museum.

I really wish I could use my arms.
Scratching my head on the walls just won’t cut it.

Resignation – 01:14GMT

I really wish I could use my arms.

But whatever it may represent to the general populace of what we prefer to call our united nation, I wish to resign as your president and continue living the solitary life on the plains that my early days helped me to appreciate so dearly.

No more shall I don the shackles of the suit and tie, beholden to the waves of indiscriminate power-seekers who knock on my door at all hours while I try to catch a little shut-eye at my desk.

Next on the docket: burning the docket as the sun sets on the old homestead, family and friends bearing witness to my transition over to the final challenge of my life. The public eye will just have to turn the other cheek; I’m not putting myself out there any more. I’m going to live off the land and taste the freedom of anonymity.

When I see a mud puddle, you’d better believe I’m going to roll in it and invite whoever happens to be around to join me in a nature-sanctioned spa treatment. Those elephants are definitely onto something; I’ve never forgotten their influence in my waking life.

My nose is extra itchy right now.

Rubric – 03:13GMT

Shattering the windows at an even more exclusive pace than those fridge poliwollies is really something that needs to be examined closely under the pretense of otherworldly dental floss protection strategies. If we’ve sufficiently followed our rubric, we should be reaching the peak of exceptional boredom any second. Where we go from there is not included in said rubric, however. Whoever came up with this curriculum has really left a lot to be desired. How can anyone construct a lesson plan without including any geriatric tofu wanderers? That concept should have been explored first, along with pocket-size jean stompers. Any idiot would know that. ANY idiot would know that.

I really wish I could use my arms.