“Why does life have to be bittersweet?”
you ask me between sips of beer.
You’re really asking the wrong guy, but but but this much I did hear:
look at life as a song
you can’t listen to the same note too long
music needs flats and sharps
sometimes horns sometimes harps.
Or taste this life this moveable feast-
alone salt and pepper we’d never eat or paprika,
but when tossed on a sirloin into this same pot… euerka!
We like our drinks cold
our steaks sizzling
our coffee hot
our ice cream and
our Alaska baked.
It’s like seeing the forest in the tree and every inch on which she feeds
supporting this tree at her most beautiful,
wearing this death-mask of Fall only to be stripped naked by Old Man Winter who buries his fallen children in snow.
Here is where we feel the rub of life:
to feel connected to anything, to separate us from androids,
our circuits have to be continually
shocked and stimulated
by an infinite amount of currents connected to an infinite amount of emotions charged positively and negatively
or else we lose our sensitivity
until we can’t feel these elements burning our skin.
I hate my heart, but
being feelings’ slave I can’t
free love from my hate
will still be Now at the end of this some how
though we don’t know where in the Tao we’re going
how will we know when we get there?
We don’t know where we were before we were born
who knows how long we’ll belong on this side of the sun
how easily we believe anything that makes us see the future as something soothing-
like today is the workout
and tomorrow is the muscle balm.
We’re born innocent only to tumble down into depths too unfathomable to be believed
by any mother holding her infant son the first time
when we finally see our depravity
is it too late to go back and change its gravity
when nothing falls up
though we grow up
it’s like the past and the future pressure the present to give up the ghost
but there’s something in the wind, there’s something in the blood
that pushes back in both directions
so we can get nostalgic about tomorrow
I don’t trust antivirus software just like
I don’t trust sun cream
cruelty just has a way of seeping through
so does beauty
and we can do our best by being healthy, wealthy and wise
simply by not smoking
and I wear a seat-belt when driving
I even wear one when falling in love
but that’s another poem
I don’t drive drunk
but I do think drunk
I’m thinking now, therefore I must be drinking
taking pot-shots at poetry
driving there are rules both legal and logical
driving 200 miles an hour through rush hour traffic while smoking crack is
illegal and illogical
poetry is smoking crack while driving over 200 miles per hour turning up the
volume on the radio
why can’t we be
tested to see if we can drive 200 miles per hour
through rush hour traffic while smoking crack
and not killing anybody
then we get the license
and if poetry should demand such a license
I would have my poetic license revoked entering this
love affair between writer and reader
knowing inevitably we will break up
it’s been nice knowing you
I hope you find some other poem to fuck.
I get hits from the weirdest sources. I love reading the statistics of this blog to see how people are finding me from Search Engine Terms. Here is a list of some of my favorites:
* cannibals love fat people
* people who deserve to die
* porno sake (I wonder if the typist meant: what is the sake of porno? or it’s a kind of Japanese drink: porno sake.)
* which is more important love or fucking
* photos of flags in times of tragedy
* tied virgin sacrifice
* the kiss that saved the world
Today one search engine term stood out: asian girlfriend nude. I had to laugh, thinking how disappointed the guy must’ve been to google: asian girlfriend nude and get my site. I gotta wonder what it says about me and my site when these kinds of searches are leading people to Cottonbombs.
So, I google, ‘asian girlfriend nude’ and get pretty much what you’d expect on the first page: all porn. Some with some colorful names: My First Time Lesbian Story-Pastoral Poems; Hijab Nude Pics; Filipina Sex Patrol; (they sound like they could save the world by fucking it). My site is no where in sight. I scroll down a few pages looking for: Cottonbombs, but after ten pages give up. Which meant the person who found me through: asian girlfriend nude must have gone through dozens of pages, spent probably hours looking for his asian girlfriend. I hope he found her.
And I hope he took a minute to enjoy my site, though I bet he frowned at the lack of nudity and moved on. I am writing this naked, if that cheers anybody up.
When I’m stuck staring at a screen with an impatient cursor waiting to be moved
the first word to flash through my mood is always:
Is this because I see so many metaphors, conspiracies, victories and tragedies
in the chemistries within its creed?
How many elegies could be written in what killed Marie Curie?
Is my mind so finite
that ‘science’ has become my brain’s homepage?
Is this because
I suck at science?
Is this how nuclear meltdowns occur?
We build a zoo to view the monster
and we sell tickets till the walls don’t fool the monster any more
Tonight we bravely push our clocks an hour ahead
like a compulsive gambler pushing his chips in on a bluff
why not go all in?
Why not just jump off the bluff?
Why not move our clocks a billion years ahead?
Why not a trillion? A quadrillion? An octillion?
Why stop at just one hour?
Why be so unambitious?
What do we have to lose?
We’ve already shown we can make it up any time we remember
we made the hands of clocks
and imagine how much we’d have to talk about in November.