I’m no poet, just a petulant child
with a pad and a pen
and a Macbook Pro, where every keystroke
is the embodiment of a scream
caught in a wind I somehow find myself in
like a loose cilantro leaf
stuck to the tooth of some beautiful woman
who only desires to bite my cheek
until it bleeds.
Oh, how I wish Danez Smith
would punch me in the face.
Then, it would be self-defense
when I make him eat his words
like glass shards
from a vodka bottle
tossed into the street
for the careless feet of dogs.
Fuck this community of clones
and would-be has-been’s
using the bullied and broken
piles of formerly closeted bones
for their soapbox sophistry
and self-righteous posturing
of career highlight reels gone wrong.
I wonder, have you even seen the mountains?
Have you seen the way moss ignores
the northern side of any stone
wetted enough with rain?
Have you seen the moon skewer itself
like a fish hook through the clouds
spilling its light over the tops of trees
like ivory clad chaos,
meant to drive the heart
through every guardrail of madness?
Maybe just stop and look around
at how everything dies
the same meaningless way
amid so much beauty.