Vise Sales, Vice Sails [CombatWords Poem, February 11, 2011]

Vise Sales, Vice Sails [CombatWords Poem, February 11, 2011]
From http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2011/02/combatwords-february-11-2011-sales.html

The purchase one dare not speak or name
Has purchased the fullest claim,
All secrets, its blame.

Gilded pussy-pounce:
Cats devour the sea by ounce;
Rubs the pole in buxom dollar bounce.

Speak me so horny, yowl in the heat;
Star in a movie conceit:
Plasma from starbeats.

One's pulse is divided
By molecules blood provided
And needles injected. Sharps. Junk-sided

Sails through the veins to pleasure, pain.
Sales through the brain to leisure, strain.
Sail all our sales; our treasure's slain.

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Cartesian Evil Genius Makes You Lose 'The Game' Again [Combatwords Repost, January 14, 2011]

Cartesian Evil Genius Makes You Lose 'The Game' Again [Combatwords Repost, January 14, 2011]
http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/combatwords-friday-january-14-2011.html

Between identity and reality is paranoia;
A sense of visionary omnipotence is underneath those,
Beyond that, nihilism as knowledge—not as inspiration—
And hope's not opposite to the pessimism we all suffer.
Impose persona, you can impersonate what and whomever
You crave becoming, but it behooves you to be the imposed on.

For example, you're reading this page, uncertain
That this poem is meaningful—now you get it.
For you either reject what it claims, or welcome
Diagnosis, but either version affirms it.

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Insist An If [Combatwords Poem, January 7, 2011]

Insist An If [Combatwords Poem, January 7, 2011]
From: http://combatwords.blogspot.com/2011/01/combatwords-january-7-2011-splitting.html

She doesn't know, she said she doesn't know
And so an extra pint, a shot of gin—
And pinball through the jukebox techno pop.

Pick a fight—what makes that eightball special?
Grab it, throw it where the music (music?)
Emanates and break the sound of fuckers.

She says she doesn't know, so disagree
And jump the curb—she's fists: his hair and keys.
At last she's driving somewhere definite.

"God does not exist you crazy bitch,
Why withhold your judgment, nothing's there.
Say it might be so, I dare you, say it,"

Might be so. She married mighty soul,
A frantic drunk she shouldn't love—
Mostly doesn't anymore—
But drives him back to sheets;
Rolls the extra bed
And lays her head
Under moon
And asks
'If.'

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Lament of a Scythian King [Bonus Poem from the Archives]

Lament of a Scythian King [Bonus Poem from the Archives]

Why must they find my body and booty?
Why excavate, only to desecrate?
Though we sacrificed a beauty
To ensure my burial gate, looters sate
Their wicked curiosity in my tomb.
They: indifferent to my sacred room.

When I lived we cared about the way we'd die--
Though we never fathomed our own extinction.
Where are my Scythian heirs to deny
Those thieves who rob my royal distinction?
Are sacred moments easily forgotten
By the ungrateful fry that we've begotten?

Is sacredness tied to living worship?
If so, then descendants know: my fate is yours.
You should forget the burial and skip
Straight to the lab and formaldehyde stores.
My venal seed ensconced by technology;
Knowing death only by archeology.

Science mines for meaning it cannot make.
They scratch the earth, the sea, the dead: to scope
Each thing, they break it. This is their mistake:
They kill off gods, but still they look for hope.
We ancestors wait in the firmament
For our sons to ascend toward punishment.

--
Circa 2004 or so.

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Someone Clicked Yesterday, So Have a Bonus Poem Today

Express enough interest in my sponsors & I'll put up an epic poem that Ploughshares & Poetry both rejected.

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The Fantastic Mechanical Museum of Coin Operated Flesh [Bonus Poem From Archives]

The Fantastic Mechanical Museum of Coin Operated Flesh

I) Should the Predictions of Anti-Feces Futurists Come True
As goes feces, so too goes our species.
Pygmalion science, in defiance
Of evolution, makes the poop solution:
Decrease the torso; remove the guts. Ease
From reliance on old toilet contrivance:
We'll all shun that old anal pollution.

II) The Museum and the Moral Hazard of Cybernetics
Obsolete body parts made into art:
Electro-stim intestines take a swim
With electric eels: aquarium surreal.
See the spine in a cart! The anus that farts!
The prim with their hymns call it Satan's new whim—
A weak appeal, to new men, made of steel.
--
First appeared in Toylit #2, 2001

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Bonus Poem Challenge

It's simple: if a few of you 'demonstrate' interest in my sponsors then I'll post an old, unpublished poem. This is a daily offer, good for about a week or so, unless there's no interest--in which case you & I will just pretend it never happened.

As a side note, I'll try to get some electronic edition of the Q1/Q2 report ready to go in the next few days.

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Samhain, Submarines & North Korea: New Poem in vis a tergo!

http://visatergo.wordpress.com

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Teach Them Who's Top Predator! [Bonus Poem, September 29, 2010]

Teach Them Who's Top Predator! [Bonus Poem, September 29, 2010]

Cats are green like money in the eye,
Soft as zero carbon footprints,
Camouflaged against their paces. Sly.
Play a clawtime drama: bloody
Paws with ink of wrist and flay the beast.
Broker off the fur to fashion,
Roast the meat so indigents may feast,
Spay and neuter? Pay to shoot her.
Every season comes about: we reap,
Reaping more and never sowing.
Soldiers don their coats and ride their jeeps,
Children learn to skin the kitten.
Kindness runs its course along with gasoline:
Everyone's a hostage; everything's my scene.

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only if you want [Bonus Poem, September 22, 2010]

only if you want [Bonus Poem, September 22, 2010]

angels cut
off part
of your foot
kiss your cheek and ask
if you still want to
they aren't convinced
god is the boogie woogie
bugle boy of company
b and the angels point
bayonets dance
for their pleasure
if you still want to






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Bonus Poem: August 29, 2010

But first, I'd really like for you to promote Toylit on Stumbleupon: http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/2wzy07/toylit.blogspot.com/. Not just the main page, but also the posts you enjoy. Review the site too; that would be nice.

Longshotmag rejected this poem, so I'm giving it to you guys as a freebie. I think they made a mistake, but then again, I didn't see what they actually published. I wrote it in an hour. If you like it, give up some applause & check out the sponsors. I'm also working on a news poem, so you'll have more stuff to read pretty soon.

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#HowToBeAnnoying ? [Bonus Twitter Found Poem April 17, 2010]

#HowToBeAnnoying ? [Bonus Twitter Found Poem April 17, 2010]

Tweets+Edits= #twitterfoundpoem
maxseltenrich urbanstopNIQUE luvmykel1 theTRENDNGtopic dabarbiemrs_247 Rebecca1440 offsetshawty32 SheLiccdMyTatts righteousbush GaryJBusey 2khicks RantInFminor supercahoots iGotHaters318

Ask Sumbody With 1 Leg To Race
a HOT parapalegic chick
Many of our people don't give a f..k about what our ancestors
had to go through. That's f..k.d up!

#WhatIf a parapalegic entered a kick ball contest ?
All Sumbody With 1 Leg
Sumbody parapalegic
talk about is depressing shit
tweet me a barbillion fucking times when I didn't reply
the first time for a reason ! Smh people need to take hints .

#HowToBeAnnoying ?
#HowToBe #VotedMostLikely to be killed by angry twitterers?
tweet me a barbillion fucking times
about thoughts of crazy positions I could put those legs in.
about TALKIN TO ME WHILE IM TALKIN TO ME
OMG..PUNCH U IN THE FACE!LOL

Would U rather have no knees or no elbows?
Would U rather have PUNCH U IN THE FACE!LOL ?
talk about depressing shit …at your own risk
Twitter is not your diary.nobody gives a hoot
WTF u mocked, then raped today




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