beards

shocking head

ruiml3 — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 04:46:29 +0000

shocking head

shocking head living
where there used to be poetry.

shocking walks
with a purse
up to his friends at the mall.

shocking head.

shocking hops
on one foot out the
door.

doesn’t call back.

creates a scene.

floats upon a laptop
behind disguises and
springs out in disgust
because he doesn’t know where we’ve gone.

shocking head.

shocking head is a victim
like a child who
picked the wrong
toy
or favorite
movie
or can’t understand the games.

shocking head signs up
every week to be
hit
but
refuses to take a clue
home and refine
the daily
brutal
politics policing
us all into polite
lies poles
to dance
upon like
a troupe of
magic, showered orangutans
stripping and
letting our daddies molt
all their pride into
a subtle whisper of
truth.

shocking head.

shocking head
is a brilliant
wig for all his friends
to try to be big boys and big girls.

shocking head.

shocking head
reminds you that it’s not easy.

it’s not easy.

it’s hard to love
it’s hard to hold the shocking head
shocking you
about
the circular
despot’s
cold
mathematical
breast
infected,
casual,
honest,
off.

shocking head.

throwing a milkshake at old people.

trying out your bathroom vanity
with some other girl’s girlfriend.

doing crack.

hiding cat fancier magazines.

crying.

spouting slurs like some hot
and bothered manly crank
assisting the manager
to throw fried food
in your face.

shocking head.

killing himself.

cheating on all of them.

detaching.

unfriending.

spamming.

shocking head.

we still quietly love shocking head. we don’t know how to talk about it. we don’t. we can’t.

shocking head.

shocking head turns his back on shocking head in a time of need.

shocking head.

your wish is my command.
commanding you to screw off.

screw off the top
change the bulb.

fly.

hoot.

single responsibility principle.

cop out.

nones.

shocking head.

a greater hero awaits you. smaller. lighter. less of a hero. nevertheless. greater.
m.

you have got to be kidding me

ruiml3 — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 14:20:13 +0000

you have got to be kidding me

you strapping me in a stroller
you correcting my dreams
you gently breaking lies over my head
you giving it to me fluffy not straight
you popping your head around the corner over and over
you skipping in your evening wear
you giving me juice instead of water
you recoloring my pictures

you
dropping me off at the curb
with an empty bottle of my heart pills
and bill for your chemo
in the near hailing rain
and this isn’t my pharmacy
and i don’t know where
i really am
but it’s radio explosion loud
like a hammer
and the food that you people eat
that burns right through me
now that i’m made of butter
and dandelion that doesn’t float
anymore and is stuck to an
old ice cream cone being
eaten by green ants who keep
grabbing my behind as a joke
while they chitter on
their phones in
broken sentences i half
understand but
shouldn’t
hear because it’s not polite
but we’re shouting
we’re screaming
we’re pasting
the wall with our beliefs
with our fears
with the fountains of many blessed
gum mounds on my shoes
destroying the last
dog lick of my ankle
crouching,
popping,
stinking,
and my hand is a dollar short
but you are telling me there’s no lotto today.

you are kind lady,
but you have got to be kidding me.
i have wings.
i am a moth.
it’s time to eat the skies.
m.

you know who

ruiml3 — Sun, 05 Jun 2011 05:32:18 +0000

you know who
who knows through
you know who.

who know who
wild bout the blue
you know who.

i dream of a desperate leap
i die inside this week
i find a freshening bleet

into the portent

who scribed the whistle
in socks
of a tail and
a heartbreak
a nestle
a tock
of inventiveness.

oh of of of intentiveness.

and the dream
the dream
the tossing dream
like a birth
like a bird
in the fullness of
buckshot blocked by a blind
in the light of time

i might
i mind
i i i i

i wishing heart
gold bends
and to scream it

oh oh of of to tie
my tide down to the moon
of a fragrant louse in shouting shanty loud.

oh oh of of to tie
my tide
my tide down to the moon
of a fragrant louse in a shouting

a shouting

a shouting shanty loud.

i find a willow.
i find a freak.
i find a piece in my pocket
and it’s picked out
in fragrant leaf

oh oh of of

in fragrant leaf.

you know who
said worth it two
you know who.

you know who
said what i love you
where do you go?
where do you go?

YOU
you
you
you
you know who.
you.
you.
you.
you.
m.

there’s change and then there’s change

ruiml3 — Mon, 30 May 2011 02:45:08 +0000

there’s change and then there’s change
there’s a mistake and there’s a mistake
there’s love and then there’s love
there’s luck and then there’s luck
there’s God and then there’s God
there’s race and then there’s race
there’s gender and then there’s gender
there’s art and then there’s art
there’s music and then there’s music
there’s pizza and then there’s pizza
there’s poetry and then there’s poetry
there’s your feet and then there’s your feet
there’s a dream and then there’s a dream
there’s your career and then there’s your career
there’s your wife and then there’s your wife
there’s the car and then there’s the car
there’s the sun and then there’s the sun
there’s the carpet and then there’s the carpet
there’s the blood and then there’s the blood
there’s his stain and then there’s his stain
there’s a note and then there a note
there’s a pattern and then there’s a pattern
there’s something beaten to death and then there’s an armchair you sit comfortably in.

what’s poetry anymore?

what’s poetry anymore when someone’s going to hurt themselves?
you can’t stop it.

you can’t whisk love into their life.

you can’t.

there’s all these futile, cataloged wonder working devices and
then there’s the hit to the face.

know your place.
there is no freedom.

not from the pain.
only from the fear.
only from the doubt.
only from a head hurtling like wind into the fits.

only from being dehumanized.
only from dehumanizing.

humans die, suffer, fail.

humans live, love, laugh.

these things are named the same
these things have the same letters
these things have the same sounds
these things couldn’t be more different
and meanwhile so completely the same.

there’s you and then there’s me and then there’s dancing.

there’s futility and then there’s effort and then there’s rage.

i don’t know.
i can’t fix you.
i can only pray.

i could hate you but that wouldn’t work.

i could mutate.
i could reverse.

but it’s hard to dance backwards once you’ve found yourself out on a tight rope.

i keep thinking about your peg leg
and where my arm pit used to be

and how the jilt of a pattern
was so comfortable.

and how the rules made sense
even when the rules were no rules
but now that the rules really are
broken and i have to love you
suddenly it’s
“but the rules”
but the rules.
butting up against safety and sanity.

there is no poe-metric measured solution
for this device’s output.

my heart
rendered worried
searching for love
when you’ve chopped it off

but my love had nothing to do with walking.

and i’ll be shot standing beside you.
but perhaps that’s my suffering.

my crutch to fling.
my code to fetch.
my cleaving to float.

one cable.
one cable.
one.

the patterns aren’t the savior.
it’s not that simple.
you know that.

right?

it’s not the law
but the living
moment
of
inertia
spiraling love into a form unseen but felt like a washing wave dryly pushing you out.
pushing you up.
so that you can push.

so push.
m.

in a row of ducks there was a

ruiml3 — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 04:35:42 +0000

in a row of ducks there was a
chuckle

i don’t know what kind of joke
passes between ducks.

do you?

is it bathroom humor
when you don’t actually go into a bathroom?

was it smarter than that?

was it a nervous laugh?

was there a duck who called
himself a poet or an artist
or perhaps shared his big news?

or revealed his crush on the duck on the end?

hard to say.
don’t speak duck.

barely speak english.

barely paying attention to much of anything
save for chuckling ducks.

but i do know that if you merry gentlemen and ladies
wanted to dress up in feathers
i would be the jester
if we needed one.
i would be the fool.
i would be the artist.
the idiot.
the charlatan.
the pretentious.
the smiling.
shameless.

i would find a way to turn my beak and kiss you all.

maybe not a slobbery kind.
maybe.

but in this line up, i’ll admit i love you all.
you buttheads.

you merry duckly highlights saving my life,
one magical v-formation at a time.
m.

for youtube in the dandilion

ruiml3 — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 04:29:00 +0000

for youtube in the dandilion
like a bird cash dwelt
to octal keep
and wish from
the kelp of
of of of
and of.

for youtube in the shiv
like a cackle
i binding and
where’s the used bin
victor of us
of us
wish?

for youtube in the sky
like a smiling destitute
bong shaped win
if the verb
are
art
arf.

for youtube in the sky
like beckoning with
and who begins f
if the and how
began the
great
great
great
great
green.

for youtube in the workplace
begin by signing off
without earth
feet hoot
cash
loft.

for youtube in the scream.

for you, tubing i seem
like a chapter book
for no one to read
but clogging up
the tube.

for you.

for you without me
makes me cry and
jealous and vulnerable.

for you, i would sell myself down the river.

(and i’m not sure anybody’s buying people
to send them down rivers so much these days.)

but i would.

and probably have.
m.

ruiml3 — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 19:50:41 +0000

maybe there’s a tip to
my tongue
that i never
knew existed
that i never
knew i could believe in
that i never

and i never.

my whole body is shuddering
and not in ecstacy
but not in disgust

never disguise
these tips
these little nothings
answering nonsense
to the sacrificed questions
lurking beneath
and
i
was
or
wasn’t
or
never heard an angle
to the subject
beside the pool
table rounding
out in aliteration.

who are you tip?

you are you tip?

bringing these numbered
balls towards my lips
and squirreling them
towards pockets of
nowhere between
sips and smokes
like a cat
cleaning green
fur
over a forgotten plane
of astral
australian a go go
go go
go go
g og o

highlights.
just enough to pretend you can taste
but not enough to silvery moon.

aloo.
m.

love ya

ruiml3 — Sun, 20 Mar 2011 19:26:40 +0000

for
for for
for for for
for lights
for seas
for dreams
for your head whiffling
off the whistle stalled
off the coast of the
broad coating
brought upon
by the whistling lift
arranged by
alphabet
or perhaps
altruism
to contrite
hearts
livered
beneath
live like
an organ
donor’s sweetest melody.

i mind.
i might.
i milling about
like a decapitation
in the morning
with a range of
thoughts
and no teeth
to guide them towards
the sweeter
kissing lips
of my limping
criminal wishing.

so so so.
so so so.
so so so.

love ya.
xox,
m.

no

ruiml3 — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 22:56:27 +0000

no
i won’t
no
i can’t
no
maybe if i and then

yes.
yes i will.

that’s that.
m.

your old mana slice highlighted by time

ruiml3 — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 16:34:25 +0000

your old mana slice highlighted by time
to the sound of the
no in not
and knock out
in knotted
beast
rest
fell
treat
breast
ingenuity light
fire in the dream
fire in the hole
holy scripts derange
by cathode
communion
walls i
walls i
walls i
bending like a beat
arranged by a melting drum
in heavy air
heavy with heat
dense and white
this noise
this noise
this nose
doesn’t smell anymore

and anymore, i

with out the sight
to guide my hands
am losing
every in every
way and day
like laughter at the wrong thing
like words that sting to ring fists
and the sound
is deafness.

the sound is deafness.

the sound.

the sound is deafness.

the sound.

the sound is deafness.

arranged like an archipelago
this elbow macaroni
that ginkgo beloba
addis ababa
i
miss your smell and your prayers.

your old mana slice highlighted by time
in the shape of a wind instrument
one flutational device
a canoe
a continuation
you can do this.

you can.

you can do this.

bounded by ch an operating system geezer gone geezer.

why should i make sense anymore?
why should i when the preaching is so wrong anyway?
m.