Stop Thinking

Stop thinking.
Being alive does not require it all the time.
Being intelligent does not require it all the time.
Frankly I think
that I think
that I think
that I think too much.
I've made a hobby of thinking
Like playing tennis the mental duress is excruciating,
and also like tennis no one is there to offer kind words of sympathy.
That's why I quit tennis
But quitting thinking is hard,
harder than not smoking a cigarette after vodka shots,
harder than forgetting that smile that makes my eyes water,
harder than saying no while thinking yes.
Thinking gets in the way of passion,
and passion, it its chaotic and often regrettable state,
is still beautiful
Its mystique is disturbed by wandering thoughts,
It's potential is untouched because of some ill-advised question marks
So stop thinking,
Enjoy yourself for a while,
In a simple way,
Without certainty or uncertainty,
And I will be there,
thinking of you.

blurry vision (poetry for the insane)

everything made more sense when i was blind.
now, my vision misleads me toward a path i used to not see
i used to be locked in a room illuminated darkly by clouded lights
now it clears and steers me toward an opening, in the corner, small, a mystery
i crawl in, like an insect, and it hits me
confusion
fear
but i stay on track, not giving up, never giving up
trying to understand where i am and why
i want to cry and laugh at the same time
why?
my eyes used to make more sense when i was blind
i know
ignorance is swiss, full of holes and cholesterol
so,
what makes a man be a man?
vision
what makes a man kill a man?
nuclear fission
what makes a man make sense?
not this poem but the point remains: i saw a ghost.
and i still see it now, in front of me
it haunts me by reminding me that history is bound to be repeated
unless your vision of it is completed and ctrl-alt-deleted, twice
or thrice
or maybe fourth time's the charm
if it doesn't work on the fifth then sound the alarm
six times, plus one for good luck, seven's ok but eight really sucks
nine makes me wonder if i'm still awake
if ten makes this poem i may need a break,
because it's too late to really see what i need
my blurry vision got better but i still don't have speed
so,
what?
what's the point? does there have to be one?
good night.
i'm tired
this isn't fun.

first funeral

my mind becomes blank when i think about it
death
inverse creation, tragic
a feast for the earth, the soil licking its fingers,
swallowing people in their little wooden boxes,
funeral processions with people crying, black shirts,
who’s fault is it?
mine or yours, it doesn’t matter because all of us are the same,
just waiting for that last day
the father tells us to pray, i smell his incense,
beautiful
his peaceful voice resonates and comforts and brings out tears
i remember being a kid
i remember last week when we ate dinner together and she put salmon on my plate, i said i can do it myself,
and she said instead of complaining you should thank your grandmother
i remember standing there and hearing people cry, a room full of sobbing, and the father said pray, pray at home and in church because her spirit will feel your words
i cross myself, it’s been a long time since i believed in god but i can understand why people do, now,
her face is looking up, peaceful and i swear i can see her chest moving, i swear i saw her breathe,
i have to look away, it’s my mind tricking itself who knows why
my mind is blank when i think about it
death
inverse creation, the end,
when we gather and set a place at the table for her,
with water and bread for nourishment during her next passage,
and her picture from years ago, looking at us from the past,
and we at her through teary blood-shot eyes,
we remember and tell stories, try to articulate who she was and what she meant to us,
we eat and drink, it’s quiet between toasts,
i’ve never witnessed so much quiet at a banquet table before,
it’s my first funeral
my mind is numb, it drifts away, i drink another, put my glass down, and pray.

no bonfires

I've got a room full of musical instruments
and a head full of memories
too many
erase, i try to like Memento, impossible to do
it makes me reach for Motrin to relieve the headache and make my pain into a prosthetic
three
orange
pills do the trick like the street walkers in New York
perfect dosage but expensive
better choose store-brand generic next time.
I've got a room full of books
and a head full of ideas
bonfire,
I need to start
easy to do, to make space on my shelf for sea shells, candles, and little statues
maybe next time, when winter comes back I will
for now, I need peace and quiet,
and no bonfires.

Random Acts of Violence

I enjoy random acts of violence.

Behind my peaceful countenance there is a hunger for murder, bodies, and guns,

destroyed civilizations like Genghis Khan and the Huns—

I thirst for complete destruction…. I thirst for blood.

There are skeletons in my closet, the remains of people I killed

The closet is filled up to the ceiling with men, women, and children because my reach is endless.

I make Osama bin Laden look like a Buddhist monk,

I get belligerent before getting drunk,

I poisoned cookies with cyanide just like my neighbors,

I even poisoned Shop Rite potatoes.

I like bombs, tommy guns, and clips that rip through innocent people, spilling blood on the streets.

Peace is boring.

I want explosions and rage that build with every bullet

until collapsing with massive collateral damage,

I manage to get by with violent nightly news highlights and still lust for more

I want another world war!

Love is for whores,

but hate is the wave of the future-

If you object we can debate this over some tea, truth serum, and torture.

Yes, I enjoy random acts of violence.

I set fires to kindergartens during nap time and again for lunch

then during dinner I'm a sinner and like al Qaeda I'm a winner.

I made God put a gun to his temple

and framed his suicide to seem accidental

Breakdowns are mental and terribly fun

I like to shoot guns,

so what are you waiting for??

Get out of your seat and run.

Random Acts of Kindness

I enjoy random acts of kindness.

Behind my violent façade there is a thirst for peace, hugs, and love

kisses for all and white flying doves

I thirst for complete ecstasy….. I thirst for bliss.

There are teddy bears in my closet, the remains of gifts I bestowed

The closet is overflowed to the ceiling with white ones and pink ones because my reach is endless.

I make the Dalai Lama look like George Bush

I meditate before shove comes to push

I prepared cookies with sprinkles for all of my neighbors,

I even baked them organic potatoes.

I like laughter, feasts, and sips of red wine that give people warmth

time after time.

Peace is adoring.

I want explosions of passion that build without pausing

until collapsing hate in a massive love earthquake,

I take a moment to pray nightly and hope to learn more

so we can avoid another world war!

Love is for all,

and spreading love is the wave of the future-

If you object we can debate this over some tea, torte cakes, and fortune.

Yes, I enjoy random acts of kindness.

I set examples for children with righteous behavior

some have even mistaken me for being a savior

I made God strip the walls from his temple

and showed people that division is mental

Love is fundamental

the rest is excess

so what are you waiting for, recess?

Go on, get out of your seat, move your feet,

hug one another and carry on this peaceful beat.