Hearts.

 



"Barney, you really do wear your heart on your sleeve. Now put it away, it's disgusting to look at."

Benediction.

ˌbeniˈdik sh ən|

nounthe utterance or bestowing of a blessing, esp. at the end of a religious service.• ( Benediction) a service in which the congregation is blessed with the Blessed Sacrament, held mainly in the Roman Catholic Church.• devout or formal invocation of blessedness : her arms outstretched in benediction.• the state of being blessed : he eventually wins benediction.ORIGIN late Middle English : via Old French from Latinbenedictio(n-), from benedicere ‘wish

 

 

It felt like a benediction. I never thought we'd be like this--friends.
It seems like we were too cute to end, we were like that annoying jr. high couple that was always touching and tickling and kissing and hugging and all the shit I hated to do in public. But, you were too pretty.
I know that it's my fault, I didn't mean anything that I said, I was just tired I guess.
When you said "goodnight, drive safe.", I don't know, it was like you really meant it, like you had forgiven me, like what was done was done and everything was gonna be alright. It was like you were just glad to be with me, and you were looking forward to seeing me again. It was like we were gonna become like the love you see in the movies, not the lifetime movies, more like the weinstein company movies. quiet and silent, like being with each other is enough, like the silence is holding our affection.
I don't know, maybe I sound strange.

The Troopers.

I am just another clone, covered in white armor.
I was made to be a soldier, I was made to be obedient.
My ancestors turned on their jedi masters, in the middle of battle.

What can I do? for decades, the bastards on Kashyk have breed us to do whatever we are told.
do you know how that feels?
In the BSDS (Boy Scouts of the Death Star) My troop leader told me that I had to take off my armor,
and dress up like princess leia, when she was chained to jaba the hut, he then asked me to choke him.

I did it,
and i'm not proud. But, I had no control, i was made to be this way,
I was made to tell people to "Move along." and walk away from a door because it was already locked;
I was taught that if a door is locked, who/whatever I'm looking for, is not behind it.
I was made to shoot my blaster at giant spaceships, but I never learned how to hit them.

I am just another clone, covered in white armor.
Constantly teased.
But for all the things I am teased about, I must accept,
For these, and much more is who I am.
I am the force to a jedi.
I am the magical existence of oxygen in space everytime something in star wars explodes.
I am the fighter in the tai (no I'm not talking about space ships (Inapproite? who gives a shit))
I am the designer who decided that a hole as big as a womp rat looked good.
I am the architect that told the designer that if there is going to be a hole, it better have a purpose.
I am the drunk trooper that told the architect that "it would be cool if uhhh you like umm shot a laser inta uh a hole on the death star and like the whole fuckin' system would just like ya know, like fuckin'  blow  the fuck up, yeah man, that would be the fuckin' shit"
I am lukes robotic hands.
I am the light, to a lightsaber.
I am a storm trooper, and I am goddamn proud of my job.

listen up.

You've been given a direct order to rock the fuck out.
(This goes out to my homie Anis Mojgani)

Rock out like you've got the power of invisibility, and a room full of naked 10's.
Rock out like all you're the fastest reader on the earth.
Rock out like you just walked into your kitchen to find an unlimited amount of milk, and fruity pebbles.
Rock out like you just kicked Flash Gordons ass. Like Flash Gordon is bowing to you.
Rock out like you are on a victoria secret cruise and every other male passenger is dead.
Rock out like your mother is alive and it was your father that the devil took.
Rock out like you just out fucked nasa (that ones for my home boy Mitch Hedberg)
Rock out like you're a three time felon who just won a tony award (thats for Lemon)
Rock out like you can breathe under water, and every poem you ever blew is coming back together.
Rock out like you know everything there is to know about Star Wars, Like Lucas just announced he would be making three more Star Wars.
Rock out like you've just been given a Direct order.

The blood spills out like so much prose.

The grass is matted with blood,
and I'm still in love with you.

I will always be in love with you,
no matter how much of your blood stains the concrete,
or the carpet,
or tile,
or veneer,
or bed.

I will always be in love with you,
even though you've been gone for quite some time,
even though you did leave me here, and
never understood why I wrote those poems.

I will always be in love with you,
and you will always be on my mind,
whether in the orchard,
or the garden,
or tending to the animals, or walking the dogs.

You will always be on my mind,
no matter what book I'm reading
or poem I'm writing
or what notebook I'm burning
or what poorly lit photo I'm stubbing out my cigarette on.

I will always love you,
and you will always be on my mind,
even when the concrete,
the carpet
the tile,
the veneer,
and the bed are all growing more
and more
red.

The grass is matted with blood,
and I'm still in love with you.

HOWL

"Poetry can not be translatted into prose, that is why it is poetry."

I'll cover your eyes, that way you have an excuse not to read my blog.

I'll drag you into the backyard, use a brick to knock out your teeth; shove the corner of it in your eye. I'll use the brick to grind up your lousy teeth and pour the lousy powder in your ears, I'll keep it from spilling out by putting duct tape over your ears. That way you can't hear me reading my poems over and over again; yelling "fuck off ya dead star" to you, and to god.

You'll slowly be bleeding to death, completely and entirely unable to move, not only because I used duct tape to bind your hands and feet, but mostly due to the fact that I filled a canvas bag full of bricks and used it to break your legs and arms. When I swung it against your chest and stomach, it broke your ribs, cracked your breast plate and collapsed one of your lungs.

While your off ruining the grass with your filthy blood, I'll be hard at work diging a hole for you.

I'll drop you in the hole, 5 feet 3 inches deep. I'll throw 2 feet of dirt, a foot of gravel, a layer of bricks, and two more feet of dirt. I'll throw another layer of bricks on top of that, install a nice little fire place and invite a few friends over to roast marshmallows and talk about music and poetry and books and things that really matter, unlike you.