[try to write renga, one tanka at a time, on my @_raven_mack_ twit, but didn't post the last October one bc it's book length, and took rest of year off; but returned to nonsense gibberish glory end of January]
awake in a place
occupied with bright nothing,
wall built around heart
I attempt to erect sand
castle of hope each morning
these hours spent working
with no probable fruit feel
like wasted moments
too many dates dried until
no sweetness is left to taste
riding the bus home,
not tired because work’s mostly
unreal, just acting
pretending to have purpose
highly exhausting for heart
darkness settles in,
winter in America -
just a single man
trying to fill my nights with
poetry, not politics
writing with thumbprints
upon cracked screen taped in place,
secondhand smartphone
my intelligence grows more
dim with each scroll I read through
scatter word prayers
along my daily path - both
real and digital
“nothing is real” refrains heard
beneath buzz - “nothing is real”
the path sometimes lost
behind steps to navigate
trifling obstacles
“life is work” philosophy
manufactured by empire
any government
can be shut down when people
decide it’s enough
but humans remain at best
domesticated as fuck
a feral spirit’s
innate fire slowly smothered
by good behavior
what’s legal and what’s right have
very little in common
tattooing phrases
up and down legs - mantras for
an open casket
born from dirt, became a god,
bound to snuggle back in dirt
slept in late without
commitment - rare occasion
of fully rested
life’s vagaries return with
extreme prejudiced quickness
winter’s bitter blue
sky leaking through the window,
in both sight and feel
warm-hearted man in cold world,
with “fuck it” philosophy
sat on a park bench
contemplating the future,
while my children lurk
even outside, space is cramped -
metaphysical fences
sweet potato tots
and hamburgers for dinner,
plans for leftovers
broke but blessed with abundance -
high late capitalism
watching Mexican
futbol lying on Swedish
couch - a southern boy
southern gothic futurist,
embracing whatever comes
insert "woke up quick,
at about noon" sample since
that shit was too true
youngest was sick on the couch,
watching youtube like zombie
quickly whipped up the
lemon ginger sage quart jar,
plus gross plantain tea
convincing a child to take
unsweetened good for them drinks
conditioned to sip
corn syrup elixirs, by
our poison culture
glyphosate tastebuds resist
healing tonics stubbornly
stopped by the old school
grocery store - chicken feet
for homemade bone broth
they was out; up front, simple
folks connecting through small talks
making sleepytime
tea every evening, half
hour before bedtime
"good thoughts to you" tradition
at the door, cutting lights off
suffering Monday
existential crisis, like
always - what's the point?
creative nature jailed by
responsible life's mandates
"I am a hidden
treasure; I am unknown yet
desire to be known"
walking beneath solar shine,
contemplating vagaries
our essence is not
chaos, but manmade order
feels awkward and wrong
most of my hours are haram,
life lacking true sanctity
expected to speed
up and remain productive,
behave like machine
denying organic heart
which desires to freely live
each night, exhausted,
yet accomplished so little...
a wasted spirit
poking words into touch screen
hoping to unlock my self
when will there be time
to recharge from relentless
time, to sleep fool night
each morning arrives before
I’m ready to attack it
fuck it... life goes on,
whether you’re ready or not,
so ride that shit out
don’t get to scratch the surface
but once, and not for that long
gotten old and soft;
too far removed from doing
acid on Tuesdays
pushing rocks like Sisyphus,
marked with “work hard and retire”
retire when I die,
likely before retirement
age, to be honest
can’t escape trash genetics,
Fargo strut, no safety net
yelling “whoo!” at a
froze world full of shinefaces
with gross number hearts
“and this bird you cannot change” -
sad refrain of the dirtgod
the veil's currently
stretched thin; the fog machines are
in need of repair
listen closely... you can hear
the gears grinding, near breakage
"it's the whole combine,
the nation-wide combine that's
the really big force"
Chief Bromden prophecied all this -
he heard the mechanisms
moments getting missed
because life keeps happening;
lost in labyrinth
these cold dark nights of the soul,
during winter’s solitude
ain’t been clicking my
tasbih like I should, keeping
hands tucked in pockets
still ain’t got no winter coat -
stubborn viking genetics
Bezels of Wisdom
heavily dog-eared beside
my free queen-sized bed
man of limited means, but
unlimited potential
