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I am never alone
Swiping at the pain
Touching the dirty glass
There’s nothing new about a Coke Float
Unless it is a New Coke Float

I pull through you like a car wash
Eyes like trains
Trained eyes inspire vertigo

Dharma at Arby’s
I don’t want to know how I did today
Tell me how I found love in parking lots
We laugh at tenses
The electric wind covers conversations
With simulated randomness
I could shoot a movie
“Bring something back”
We explored galaxies from the back seat
That tree was Vietnam
The streetlamp is oxygen

I don’t need to know
The rain puts you here
The window places us and then
I unlock my bicycle and ride home

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Ice

Things were working
A stiffness
Prodding you in the back
Like an old boner

Attack it with a golf club
Tennis racket, garden hose
Work with professionals

People will spend a lot
To keep an ice cube
From melting in the sun

Open micing smartphones
Podcasts about poetry
Why bother being a star
When you can just look like one?

We sat with our own thoughts
And we wrote little things
On pieces of paper
That’s what we did

We ran wild in the streets
We put coins in slots
So inefficient
So disconnected
The noises told us

The land is our ocean

There are no beaches
In this town. No rolling waves to
Wash our un-wanteds back out to sea

Here we bury our trash
Dig it up after 48 hours
Then devour it
Slathered in barbecue sauce

No sliding foam across the sand
Or salty wind to mask the
Seagulls’ starving cries.

The sky has no competition
There is no port of entry. We
Have no way to see them coming

Things just pop up
Like grass. We cover
Them in colored blankets
And offer up a contract
Like soldiers in a war.

But there is no war. There
Is only God and weather.
And we do not fear the weather.

Like a mirror pointing outward
We long to be ourselves
In the reflection of the world
Like a painted mirror.
Like lipstick on a bowl of oatmeal

It’s the sin that makes the
Fucking so good
The sandbags of guilt that
Keep the church basement dry

Pure pure. It’s been so long.
The kind of pure you could just kill for.

We covet what we have
A peak within a valley
It’s different for cows

Flatness
The earth, canvass, the screen
It all disappears when we sleep
Even in sleep mode
We act like it’s the same
And it is

Stop looking for the real me 6/16/18 @ The Brick (KC, MO) #poetry

Major Matt Mason USA

IMG_6923 photo by Hillary Watts

I am not the man I was a minute ago
I’m not the man you think I am
I’m not the man.
I might not be
A man at all
I might not be your mother
You mother’s mother
Who might not be the man
I may have never been.

She may have been a big beautiful
Pink sky
Who opened up one day
Above a high school that
Looked like a penetentary

She may have been a dark cloud
Moving along a powerful wind
That blew a baby bird from it’s nest
Leaving it to perish on an empty sidewalk

Maybe that bird was just a thought
That formed into a question.
A question about hair…
How do I look in these jeans?
What time is it?
I can’t hear you.
Are you going to say you’re sorry?

Hearing your own voice.
Sounds like someone…

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Mammarial Day

Take time today to
Remember dead heroes
And stoned ladies on stage

Take some more for dead heroines
The twice forgotten
Take twice as much time as that
And consider what a hero is to you

A trombone up my ass
A trombone up my ass
A little Philip Glass
And a trombone up my ass

Less attention to the speach speakers
The game gamers
The pay for prayers.
Converse with the dead.
Dead people make great listeners
You can learn a lot from a dead person.

Who painted these walls
Who put all these dents in the ball
Hunters and gatherers.
What is this stage for
It’s like
The audience forgot
How to be an audience

Sometimes in our attempts
To move boulders
We blow dust
In people’s eyes

Keeping the air clean and clear
Is all you need to see
The sculpture
Inside the enormous rock
In front of you

Book of faces

You have no idea
Analytica Karenina

Largest organ of the human body
Whack-a-mole of hives
Stealing our moments
Salving our thighs
Coming to things
Respecting the written word
Falling behind while catching up
Cutting and pasting
Repetition is a chemical reaction

Just being in the same room
Something behind everything
Repetition is a part of physics

It’s time to flush out the poison
Psychometric Nightmare Band
Put on a little makeup
Mix it with some body fluids
And stuff collecting in gutters

Lincoln center
Fourty second street
Sixth street Indian restaurants
What’s a man to do?
Read the menu
Turn the channel
Click the link
Look up
Look out
Consult the Stars
Get a drink
Stop thinking about it
Network
That should satisfy them
See, there’s work in there
Now am I allowed?
Now am I permitted to?
Have I expressed the right amount of Gratitude.
Are you happy enough to stop?
Have you made them happy
So they can stop
Looking at your self
And look at yourself
And feel they made
Them happy.

Cincinnati, OH @ Woodward Theater 05/05/18 #poetry

Schwervon!

fullsizeoutput_84d photo by John Smallwood

Cigarette butts and apple sauce.
There’s aliens in our midst
Self indulgent birthday guitar solos
Lavender oil on bearded clams
Green lights that turn green
And then green
And then back to green again.

You made a sound
Like a little baby,
When you were a little baby

I wore my funeral dress to the wedding
You put your credit card
Where your mouth is
Lisa 4517

Say you say me
I hear you crying out
Behind a wall of doubt
And who will pay for the wall

Too poor to take the pill
I’ll leave you in my will
Then foot you with the bill
Attica!
Atta boy!
Add a bake potato for just
Three bucks!

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