a short haiku
if air were water
we'd see the currents we are
swimming in
welcome. please, don't stay.
Are you okay?
Stop whining.
This is a penal colony.
The rivers and
the oceans
are natural
moats
keeping
the maniacs
relatively safe.
Overcrowded
noisy
smells like a mass grave
Masturbating men
hurrying to train
always trying
to get somewhere important
Money is Jesus.
you buy lavish self-deceptions
and comfortable suffering
with Jesus.
No personal journies.
Getting laid
getting laid off
getting laid
again
A few years later,
another layoff
Getting
Laid.
jerk-off.
getting jumped.
A Serbian,
A Moroccan
A Turk
drunkenly swearing in a bar
they’ll break the legs
of the little boys
singing sad songs
at the
bottom of wells.
Not a fantasy.
Apocolypse.
Mutations. Evolution.
Lose this poignantly.
in Unexpected ways.
Hustle. Struggle. Fail.
Survive.
Sitting round a fire
singing mighty ballads
of tragic battles
kin roaring out.
of inside-out umbrellas
rent tumors
chewed up dreams.
Complain.
Never whine.
Avoid romantics,
strolling smilers.
How inappropriate.
no eye contact
no respect
wise, jolly scamps
provincial people
pretending to have
perfect pretext
to prefer
a port
with a kind of authority
just a long con
where
flecks of splintering
broken shards
in a shaken opera house
--under a plastic
tablecloth and
within indifference--
all add to your plight
leave and admit
you were a wimp.
i touched
the white
soft crevice
of my bosom.
and i found only
a small tendril
of sweat
and i thought to myself
why should i
work so hard
for so little
a tip?
so i tightened
up my shorts
and i tighened
up my bun
but i never
absolutely never
went to sharky's again.
how to stop the wind
fill the empty vessel
slowly, while holding tight
smooth river streaming
indecipherable oscillations of sound
ringing at a higher and higher
melody
carry the water carefully
as if each drop were worth
a thousand steps
weight on your back
a never-ending world outside of an oasis
place the burden
with the balance and precision
of total alignment
control and centeredness
turn the fire up from deep below,
slowly,
then... do not wait!
contemplate
meditate
accentuate the experience
in your mind
in your skin
in your blood
let it seep into your whole being
invest in the slow process
with the
the soft singing of patience
the eagerness of wonder
should you wait for the whistle?
as time grows shorter,
like the quickening dip of an almost set sun,
you decide to experience these last moments
of the steam
the soft song
the leaping of uncountable Oceanides
becoming pure
& just before the first Harpie
blows a sound of wind
you grasp it in your hand
and silence it
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