. 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

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Until We Meet Again, Mike



Gonna miss you, Mike,
when everything (hopefully) goes right tonight
and I'm sent ass-over-end
into shim-shimmering starlight,
past red dwarfs
and lumbering gas giants
magnanimous
and overly bright,
into the very epicenter of my
full young life,
taking a star-studded hike
past lonely meteors
made of the lion's iron
and the devil's sulfide,
long-running Voyager at full mast
fighting the good fight
sending its last message into the past,
tumbling
still
into infinite heights,
the might of that one heavy boot
to my poop-chute
carrying me into the imminent
unknown
beyond the thunder-dome
and solar cyclones
and the hidden birth homes
of infant galaxies,
glimmering
in post-natal ecstasy,
building planets from stardust,
filling them with
seas,
fishes,
monkeys,
us,
bombs,
roaches
and rust,
out into the darkness,
even
beyond love,
beyond reproach,
beyond God above,
until I return again,
on the back of a white stallion,
a stud,
and into every
man
woman
child's
waiting ears,
I utter

"wassup".

2015

ta

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