Taking Even

Fun Fact: The working title for this was ''Wrapping Presents" (Rapping Presence, get it!?). Yes, I think I'm hilarious. Anyway, please enjoy.

I'm immortal is a motto that I'll carry till death.

If you find that fact a fallacy put it to the test

'cause I

Must confess I'll put to rest duress with fisticuffs and If I must,

you best guess I could be dangerous.

Now I could try to forget

And I could try to forgive.

I could let bygones be bygones,

I could live and let live but,

Shit!

This cyclone's spinning and it just won't quit.

There's no karmatic requital.

It's not a question of faith.

No passion play recital,

It's just me and my own stakes.

Circumambulating

Lamenting remunerations

Got me frustrated, contemplating some heinous

Resolve to exolves long gone but still raw in the memory.

Remember,

Enemies tempted this fate. Now ensate

is the steel so they reel but they'll never escape.

All Good Things (links)

Busy, busy. New writing to be posted soon. For now, enjoy a link to a new work on SixSentences, as well some links to other great works.

• Riding a Reverie: My story on 6S.
• Only Human: New Poems by your bro and mine, Glen Binger.
• The Broadset: Test your knowledge of beat poets and more.
• Ginsberg's Omelet: A piece I really liked by a gentleman named Ron. He also has many other fine pieces.

For Better Or Worse

I originally submitted this to seventytwowords, but they have yet to get back to me, and seeing as I'm a dolt who (much to my chagrin) failed to properly proofread the damn thing before sending it, I doubt they ever will. My bad.

For better or worse, Geoffrey lay pinned beneath six stories of shitty apartments. He knew the basement laundry room's wall saved him. He would lose his legs. Fine, insurance would cover the losses. Moreover, this excused him to continue his old passion of writing, which his nag wife resented. Her chances were slimmer on the fourth floor and seeing as the latter of ''for better or worse'' had long come, Geoffrey smiled.

Drink Of Me Deeply

Here is something I wrote for my girlfriend because I'm a goober like that. It's our one year anniversary today and this is my way of saying to her, ''Thanks for graciously putting up with me for a whole year!''


Drink Of Me Deeply.

On first approach does steam rise to and warm your nostrils?

Can you hear the crackle of effervescence, feel its flecks upon your lips?

Do you feel a faint chill, hear the rattle of ice?

Does the sting of ethanol fumes tickle your senses?

How am I perceived?

Drink of me deeply.

Am I cloying, austere, bitter,

Piquant, salty, cool?

Drink of me deeply.

Is a grit left on your tongue?

A fine silt.

A clinging syrup.

A silky coat.

I know,

given the day,

I can be any and all of these.

Still!

You drink of me deeply.

Do you find me best served torrid, temperate, frosted?

Perhaps even,

frozen,

on a stick.

Drink of me deeply.

But first!

Will you take me with lemon and honey,

Cream and sugar,

A dash of bitters,

A twist of lime,

or

A grain of salt.

Me?

I'll take you as you come.

You'll have the same, you say.

Then I suppose, all that's left is to toast.

Brown Marmorated Stink Bug

Haiku time -- but first, a brief anecdote. The other day I went to burn a pile of personal documents in the wood stove. Shortly after setting a blaze the ashes of old fires came to life with a buzzing whir, launching themselves into the room. After a brief panic, I realized the wood stove was filled with stinkbugs. The bugs make there way indoors in the fall to keep warm -- I slammed the stove door, (startled and enraged) and allowed them all the warmth they could handle. Up until then my hatred for the invasive pest (in spite of their congregating en masse on my home's exterior)  had remained passive. The next day I worked my way around the house killing every one I found...

Chitin crunch abides.

Battery acid stink drifts,

when boots meet beetles.  

And there are still beetles in the wood stove.