the art of kEith ::: 'E' on everything

recommended

reading

walt whitman’s (gift to us) ‘leaves of grass’

can i trust you , no.

dear mom,

i

i decided to express
myself
myself
mysef

holy moses
what has become of this?

jesus, tell them … eac h of us .. ost
in these small portions
of love

keeep yourself alive

nobody

i saw Archie bunker on main street
and a faux faux faux band
and a hypocrite with a mohawk
and a sailor with a grin
i saw jesus there as well
bored and broken, oh yeah
i saw harry potter cutting his finger tips
and way too many phony highs

i’m taking names and numbers, says god.
like in the deli line
ham
salad
roast beef
who has the time?

goodbye captains
goodbye saints
good bye relics
good bye aints

here’s to the monkey.
bold and stout.
free as a breeze.
no doubt.

what can we say?
oh monkey o’lay
a goofy fool,
Adam. tool.

It’s such a beautiful, misty day here in the Appalachia.

I’m not aloud to say it– to speak it. My joy goes uncelebrated.

We drove on the Blue Ridge Highway to leave the keys in her abandoned truck for the tow driver.

She is mountain gritty and works with metals. I love her.

She doesn’t feed me like a woman should, like my ravenous ego would like it. Like my mother did.

I want my hair touched. My head comforted. I want my body stroked and I want to be naked most of the time.

I want legs spread wide and screams of ecstasy. I want endless celebration with food and drink and smoke. I want her to understand every word and take delight, as I do in each last sound.

I want her to know ‘despite this’ the joy I see in the bible; that I am saved; that there is no fear no strife no anger.

But I would never speak these things. Never.

riddled with enlightenment
blessed with joy
raptured of the highest

need love like a dinner lion
blood of which i adore

tastes of iron
of salt
smooth textures of skin

i am an artist
you (must come to terms)

jim jim
lawyer
root
i shed you like
the demon
of history
and time herself

wanton vulture don’t interrupt here

I LOVE YOU

how can i not?

lost potency
like a trigger tape parade
nobody ever said it shouldn’t be easy

dr. who
the myth of chaos
reason separates.

i’m looking for a few good men

explained (well not really) OK maybe …
yeah this was in 2011. the muses then were tough, and strong, and certainly my vision was going to prevail. this is pre- Total surrender.. the influence of a certain female dominates most of the 2011 (attempts)

to a poet sad.

how linguistically lustful can a boy be
find leaves of terrible calamitY

to oNLy hope for rainy days.
verbs the only things to say!

take time to see the truth there is
be gone with this shaky, youthful biz.

and dream beyond the wasteful cry
of lessons learned by and by.

this game we play
for what it’s worth
does have high stakes
beyond this earth

for what but here does not pass away
all of it every day

the caravan
and silly sand
the simpleton
that seek and plan

how duped we are
this whole long lot
to chase this dust
treasure lost, forgot.

The young man comes to terms with the seduction
Or how to get over empty suitors
Or holy sh*t this is really happening.

Stumbling into 7-11, 4 days off cigarettes, Richard the Heavy Hearted sees a poster for Camel cigarettes with the (radically amplified) slogan, “Pleasure to Burn” printed over a graphic of a harlot.

“How’s your husband?” the clerk asks, to the Miss who reminds him of a movie extra.

Seriously there’s no point in fighting this. God’s got this whole lot wrapped up and ready to go.

Ready to go.