. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Thursday, September 29, 2016

My Mother's Principles

these are my mother's principles:
to hunt or be hunted,
in the thick dell or snowstorm swell,
to the summit,
never find your knife blunted,
be husband to your tools of survival,
confront all revivals with skepticism
until in a pool of your own blood
you are swept up in rapture
like the world beneath Noah's flood,
capture those nymphs of curiosity,
fuck them with ferocity
until in a moment of clarity
all fools spouting foolish lies
are revealed as monstrosities,
never say goodbye,
scout from on high,
the biggest bone is beneath the thigh,
wound a man there
if you decide he shouldn't die,
to the sky,
never stop trying,
never stop crying when you're told
it's the day to be dry-eyed,
always burgers with fries,
ride whatever wave passes you by
despite its size
or its might
and ever and always with delight,
like the inherent happiness of a child and kite,
gripe only in the shadows,
snipe only from the rooftops,
find proof where truth stops,
get the job,
do the job well,
my son,
my egg,
your father's brave sperm cell,
crouch low
low in the dell,
see the tiger as he passes
wherein the devil dwelt
black for the souls that fall
orange for the flames of Hell.



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