AMORETTI, SONNET #75 By Edmund, rewritten.

This doesn't matter
to me, people. Old
people should not tell anyone how to
love. Love is always-
                 evolving.
      The love melissa 
makes,
i make. Our love is not any body's love. A
community of two, like blowfish.

if any one in this world has this camera, contact immediately. its beautiful, god. well, to such fella:
lets become familiar with each other, so maybe one day youll realize
i have something you want, too. then a trade.

"CHARLES EPSTEIN'S MUCH-NEEDED LESSON ON THE EMPHASIS OF THE INDIVIDUAL NONCONFORMIST FREAKAZOIDIC MAN-HUNGRY ALIEN WHORES Once there was a lonesome boy, one with no politics, no bonds, no emotion; nothing to regret. His friends were those who held interest in him. His true friend lied within his complexities. Then God created Earth. It was a very long process and required the majority of the people's taxdollars. All and all, God did a decent job. But one aspect God ignored, a problem that was prolonged to the many later centuries, was the ability for human minds to analyze, evaluate, and judge for their own what is most benificial. Reprecussions were closed-minded conformitym which led to war, racial discrimination, and...... THE END"

-I didnt write this, but I stole it

sometimes i want to be alone

jeez laweez so what there aint no jeans on my knees

today i
      feel like a shutter
      feel like robotic motion
      worry about the life of my love
      found a long hair from my head in my nose
      want a cat
      intimidate myself
      think i intimidate other kids
      sat ontop a spiral staircase
      critiqued
      have to pay rent
   
today i
      miss melissa
      had a dream about someone
                   who wanted to love
                   me and i wish
                   it was melissa
      haven't sneezed
      remember Ian's name
      remember Gookjin's name
      haven't written a comma
      used this black pen alot
      had alot of thinking to myself

     want to be in the netherlands

goldminding

hi
named ted
my wife says
i wont get out of bed
gee
another sneeze
this is an unhappy
life to have on a day
like today

jay grabs the knife
he wore no coat
with his eye on aim
a poke in the throat

murky vision
stumbles in my shorts
wife and kids in the hallway
m&m's&yogurt

some other guy, and chris nealon: reading

some other guy, and chris nealon: reading

            The first reader was an ol nerved man with a lot to say about his poetry. A math poet, I’ll call him, because he seemed to weave his poems with computations. I don’t really remember any of his poetry because he was a lackluster reader. But I like old people like that. Even with his monotone, he seemed to have more life than the youth, with his half grin smile and wit joke.

           

            It was kinda like watching a mediocre movie with a friend you wanted to kiss but too afraid, except it was nothing like that. It was like being awkwardly stoned, sitting next to one’s poetry workshop teacher and a girl with legs too long. I was lumpy and nostalgic then. I wondered what made you so sick. I wondered if c4c got you sick. Then I remembered I had c4c, too, a likely flatulence brewing within me. Did my imaginable fart make you leave? I don’t feel bad about it, I’m just interested.

            The first reader was done reading and I clapped for him like I clap for everyone.

            The second reader came up and his name is chris nealon. I’ll call him a language poet. Man, the man was dressed up good. If I were to analyze his getup, that would make this response much longer. I won’t. But I could tell how he wrote. He was a lazy poet like me, with a phd. He talked about cars and social blinkers. It was nice, because it was a night to

            fuck the establishment.

After that, I thought about checkers. Does chess really have more elegance? The seats were terribly uncomfortable. Poetry is about complaining, you see.

            I liked the way nealon spoke. Calm like a sniper but always hit the punchline. 

gunna suffa so hard with tha blues

babe
it hurts me to leave you here alone

mercy please 

make me made of stone

m 

a piece of that word

smells so badly good

gunna suffa so hard with tha blues

if only 

if only

there was  a way to choose

mercy did 

make me made of stone

but im already falling to pieces