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Jul 2016 · 510
Desolation Clues
Mike Essig Jul 2016
See how it all returns. Circling vultures.
Grief like a dull blade hacking.
Rend ourselves apart. Dingy heartbreaks.
Delicate stringency of stale perfume.
Dead kisses. Final whimpers of regret.
Quicksilver of light turns to sheets of lead.
Gunmetal pall falls across the bed.
Whispered passion breaks against life.
Night sighs succumb to bleak morning.
Time to turn the page to emptiness.
Gray days of walking away. Lonely streets.
You know this will all happen again,
men full of anger and women of pain.
Where do you walk to when you walk away?
You walk out of yesterday into today.

mce
Mike Essig Jun 2016
I dreamed I saw Tom Paine last night…*

The dream became a nightmare. Ride it. Fall.
A Republic if you can keep it. You didn’t.
Every four years a buffoon appears in TVs
who can bleed the American people to disaster.
Burnt Knees. Hill artillery. Hearts not Trump.
An article on now. The inherent absurdity of politics.
Infamy. Liars in public places. Old lies. New faces.
Abandoned factories. Angry workers, Abandoned. All.
Pick a pack of proven paupers. No one cares.
We lust for the stud who can wave his thick wand
and magically make everything better. But won’t.
Even if that he is a she. Show me the money.
How can the one percent eat everything yet never ****?
Faceless bureaucrats cannot be held responsible.
Zombie politicos bought and sold like cats in sacks.
Still the mindless parade charade continues
off to the public polls to be pummeled. ****** on.
  Get down on your knees and set lips to *****,
  Due your duty, turn your trick.
Jun 2016 · 813
“Ball Of Confusion”
Mike Essig Jun 2016
False flags and panic. Fear the other. Hate.
Be a Patriot. Act. As you are told.
When the people are frightened, they obey.
These are the times that few men try. At all.
No one can own you unless you want them to.
Gun in hand worth ten senators. Boom.
Gay Straight Male Female Black White Muslim Jew.
Exactly the opposite of E Puribus Unum.
Stir and stir, yet the *** does not melt.
Too many soups only antagonize the cook.
The fires of discord sizzle and fry.
Dare not to think, just buy and buy.
Jun 2016 · 827
None Dare Call It Reason
Mike Essig Jun 2016
Or Why I Left Medium.com

Sing, Muse, the futile war betwixt genders.
Hate, stupidity, intolerance, PC *******.
Femmes Afeared* of contradiction. Shout.
Their castrato sycophants. Here, *****.
Nannie and her harridan hyenas. Attack.
On Medium you will be well done. Fried.
Hordes of Harpies hurling lightening.
Petulant little girls. Stamp feet. Pull hair.
Free to agree; otherwise, shut up.
Hidden behind PC barriers, they snipe.
All men are potential rapists. Factoid.
All women are helpless victims. Fact.
Millennial milquetoasts. Everywhere.
Do exactly as you are told
or take your evil ***** and fold.
Jun 2016 · 777
The Power And The Glory
Mike Essig Jun 2016
Seat a great philosopher,
mathematician, physicist,
and theologian at a table
at a swank outdoor cafe.
Have a lovely, graceful woman
approach to take their orders.
I can tell you exactly
what they are not thinking.
They are not thinking about
Physics, Math, Philosophy or Theology.
Big issues expire in the face of beauty.

mce
Jun 2016 · 686
Flight Of Fancy
Mike Essig Jun 2016
This morning,
I saw a bird
that doesn’t exist.
It vibrated one
pregnant instant
in my fluttering head
and vanished;
by far the loveliest
I have never seen.

mce
Jun 2016 · 468
The Poem Of The Mind
Mike Essig Jun 2016
A poet writes
what he writes;
the reader reads
what she reads.
The real poem,
the poem
of the mind,
exists when
the two collide
and belongs -
exclusively
- to both
and neither
of them.

mce
Jun 2016 · 482
Divorced
Mike Essig Jun 2016
We still meet
as friends
in rooms, but
not the home
we shared for
thirty years.
My sadness
is not for
what we lost.
My sadness
is for what we
might have been
and won’t.

mce
Mike Essig May 2016
You can find The Biology Of Strangeness  and my other books at my Amazon Author’s Page: www.amazon.com/author/mikeessig. You can get print or ebook. Read for free with Amazon Prime.

If you are kind enough to buy, please, please, please leave a review on Amazon. It takes a minute and makes a huge difference for any Indie writer.

Here is a chance to feed a poet’s starving cat. Not as much fun as sleeping with the poet, but more important.

Off to Minnesota to my God Son’s wedding. See you on Thursday. :) Mike
www.amazon.com/author/mikeessig
May 2016 · 1.4k
Memorial Day 2016
Mike Essig May 2016
My first real job
was trying to glue
blown up teenagers
back together.
I was twenty, old.
I held them in my arms
and told them lies
while they cried and died.
Told them it was ok,
they were fine, going home.
Their spirits lodged in
the secret chambers
of my broken heart.
I can never forget.
Their faces stick
in in my brain
like photos in a wallet.
I will never forgive
those who sent us to die
and then treated us
like mad, pariah dogs
if we made it back.
But we knew what we knew.
He today who sheds
his blood with me
shall be my brother.

Brothers in arms.
Brothers forever.
May 2016 · 598
Sweet Pain
Mike Essig May 2016
Her eyes are
intoxicatingly
limpid pools.
Dive in.
Get drunk.
Enjoy
the best
hangover
ever.
May 2016 · 955
Zombie Treadmill
Mike Essig May 2016
The relentless education machine
***** in working class heroes
and churns our middle-class drones.
How willingly they fall in line
to register for that course,
unaware that getting an 'A'
in conformity leads directly
to an 'F' in satisfaction
and a life on the treadmill
to emptiness or nowhere at all.
Become a contrarian anarchist!
Jump off while there's still time.
Run for your life while you
still have one and it's still yours.
May 2016 · 1.0k
Mug Shot
Mike Essig May 2016
Poised on the knife's
edge between old and
too old. It is easy to
count up my misses.

I know now I'll
never get a PhD,
win a Nobel Prize,
discover a
Quantum particle
or find True Love.

It's just too late.

I am broke, old,
not very handsome
and slouching
towards inevitable
decay.

           No matter.

I have always been
better at life on paper
than living in the
world of phenomena.

Never keep score
on your life.

Don't mean nothing:

what counts is
not simply winning,
but learning the game,
loving the game,
playing for keeps,

and dying like
the man or woman
you are proud to be.

  ~mce
May 2016 · 1.1k
Love In The Ruins
Mike Essig May 2016
Nha Trang, Vietnam, 1972

Darkened portal. Room of shadows. A haze of ***.
Hard vision of *** and combat. Mixed up. Dream.
Young girl smiles outside a Nha Trang bordello.
Smile of innocence in a land of evil. Unreal.
Whose need rejects this process? Transaction of lust.
She removes her *ao dai
like lifting fog. Naked.
Mortars fall as we writhe. Danger is my business.
Harder and faster like a rocket barrage. Deep.
Kick of a 12 gauge pump. Flesh explosions.
****** ***** out your breath. So does this.
War and *******. Extinction and lust. The same.
****** a moment from the blood and tears.
All is burning. Cling to any possible refuge.
     Bound together in this instant of life;
     Completing ourselves in this world of death.
May 2016 · 678
Anxiety Attacks
Mike Essig May 2016
Lightening from a clear, blue sky.
Random firing synapses. Fluttering twitches.
A moment where the eye and I diverge.
Mind rockets in flight, morning or night.
Become a twisted ball of rubber bands. Writhe.
Avalanche of trembles. Lungs in a vise.
Devastating payload of cognitive dissonance.
How long will this horror of nothing last?
Waiting is the worst. Paralysis of time.
     Sitting on a sofa on a quiet afternoon
     Hoping for a large slice of normal, soon.
May 2016 · 1.2k
Crunching The Madeleine
Mike Essig May 2016
for Herman and Mary*
Old friends. New days. Years like miles fall away.
A visit, a visit. Time collapses. Walks and talks.
Memories in an instant. Tattoos on the brain remain.
This world, inconsequential and uncaring, but home.
Pain and failure as knowledge. A maturity of knowing.
The zig-zag manifestation of life. Pearls of moments.
We live a succession of dangling modifiers. Syntax.
Dreaming the most legitimate activity. Breathe.
Here but not forever. There is no full stop.
     Only a pause in the Bardo for tea
     And then a flowing outward to see.
May 2016 · 1.4k
Voided Departures
Mike Essig May 2016
Our hands rise
and the street leaps.
Our eyes lower,
the heavens collapse.

From our unspoken pain,
a tulip tree grows
mysteriously behind us.

From our cherished wishes,
a star rises
just beyond our reach.

Do you hear the bullets
whizzing around our heads
guarding our kisses?

The sweetness
of your glance
never ends.

No birds fly south
from your eyes;
no avalanches slide
from your *******.

In the paradise
of your sight
the sun never sets.

These are your lips
I return to your neck.

Your blood
burns in my heart.

Everything remains.
May 2016 · 1.3k
A Road Map To Modern Poesy
Mike Essig May 2016
follow the yellow brick road...*

The terrible freedom unleashed by typewriters.
Condition of complexity judged without criteria.
Radical provocations. Urinals and prams. Contingent.
Anarchist aesthetic. Not truth nor beauty but freedom.
Materiality of language. Multi-hued wheel barrows.
A cuttlefish. A crate. A cassowary. A cigarette. A ******.
Paratactic order. Particular phrasing. Pulsing pastiche.
An infinite conversation without resolution
as with the stupid friend who won’t shut up. Ever.
A transcendent dialectic based solely on proximity.
Ineluctable modality of the near. Only that. Buck it.
An unquiet ghost endlessly self-questioning. No answers.
Moaning in the meaning. A simple stuttering. Sibilant.
Turbulent and unpredictable as waddling wolverines.
Words that only mean whatever is seen. Juxtaposition.
Dissolving into desired dissonance. The magic chord.
Absolute verity in the experience of the fraudulent
for the same reason as the ubiquity of toothpaste.
     The poem as its own universe, complete and whole,
     fodder for the mind, not balm for the soul.
May 2016 · 1.4k
Personal Kabuki
Mike Essig May 2016
Today is made real
by changing yesterday.
Time is not a line,
but a field within which
we particles dance,
and dancing, alter all,
making the past future,
creating active history,
performing our lives
behind living masks.
Apr 2016 · 936
Sink And Seek
Mike Essig Apr 2016
Let us sink and seek the miraculous,
steal from the clothesline of nostalgia.
The crushing weight of a pith helmet.
The quandary that every exit out opens in.
What is not remembered still exists;
the song never plucked rings still.
Cease stifling epistemological *******.
In the end, very few will comprehend.
Hard feet on a bare-wood floor. Then flush.
Iced sausages and cold blood for breakfast.
French toast boasts an aftertaste of paper.
Sign on cafe: Enter ye and be devoured.
It is always eat up or be eaten up.
What is the reference of it in that sentence.
Converse with horses in a dingy sushi bar.
Horoscopes promise passionate promiscuity.
Sometimes cigars can act like ******.
Two hours of smoke an extended ******.
Purchase a pack of Godzillas. Enjoy.
You are responsible for whatever you read.
Do not assault my ears for explanations.
Pluck pantaloons from that nostalgic rope.
Wear them well where you will wear them.
Feel the miraculous swell and understand.
Apr 2016 · 902
Why La Giaconda Smiles
Mike Essig Apr 2016
abhor circular time. clocks as monstrosities. dream eternity.
the immensity of everything. existence is elsewhere,
but life is here. in explosive silences, inexpressible delights,
truthful illusions, authentic falsehoods, slippery nights.
let sense and spirit sing a long song of your knowing heart.
exiled on earth in scornful times, become a bard of desire.
heart songs, earth songs, lust songs. amazingly human songs.
after all, flowers still spill perfume. drink it up.
study the mathematics of memory. the equations of living.
the trajectories of silence. the physics of poetry.
penetrate the disquieting muse. seek screeching squeals of joy.
all this has happened before. It will all happen again.
everything repeats in cycles, absolute and endless. return.
   dive into the infinity of the gyre.
   imbibe its cold, invigorating fire.
Apr 2016 · 653
Shameless Self-Promotion
Mike Essig Apr 2016
Sorry to interrupt this program.

The print version of my new book, The Biology of Strangeness,is available today from Createspace and should be on Amazon in three days. Even if you aren't a poetry person, some of this will make you laugh. Currently available as an e-book on Amazon. Just search my name. Read for free if you have Amazon Prime. Don't forget to review. Please.

Now back to regularly scheduled poetry program.

Thanks.  Mike
Apr 2016 · 2.7k
Pretty As You Feel
Mike Essig Apr 2016
Over the course of 64 years (and still), I have encountered so many women (including my still lovely ex-wife) in person and in writing who struggle with their looks. It seems to be an eternal theme that crosses generations. So, I decided to write this humble piece in reply.
There are some who would say I can’t write about women’s feelings because I am a man. A patronizing old, white man. I note their objecions, but I disagree. I believe humanity always trumps gender.
We live in an artificial culture created and controlled by advertisers. Not only do they sell us stuff, they convince us that we need it. Women are perfect targets for them.
So they have created impossible standards for women to live up to. You must always look like you are 25, young and thin. They tell you this is the key to being desired, even loved. As it’s impossible to be young and thin forever, they just happen to have the products that will “help” you. They want your minds so they can profit by manipulating them. They do a great job of it.
So the key to loving your bodies and yourselves is to take back your minds. This is difficult. You are bombarded with a barrage of words and images that say you are not good enough. If only you were younger, thinner, shaped like Barbie, not greying, had longer legs, bigger *******, wore a size 2, you would be happy, and — of course — men would desire you. You would never be traded in for a younger, sleeker model. So many insecurities to exploit.
But consider the difference between beauty and Beauty. Beauty is human, individual and eternal; beauty is abstract, mass and reliant on current tastes.
I have known many women of all shapes, sizes and ages who were Beautiful. That Beauty was expressed from their hearts through their faces and eyes. They radiated it. It was not dependent on my or any other man’s approval. It just was. So I know this can be done.
Fashion changes so there will always be new things to sell. To the current ad masters, the Gibson girls of the late 19th century would now be called fat. Sell them a diet plan and gym membership. The angular loveliness of the Venus de Milo too cold and boyish. Sell her cosmetics and plastic surgery. Mona Lisa, a dumpy Italian girl. So many things to sell her.
And then there is that intense desire to please men that begins with daddy. I often hear its echo even in the strident voices of the most ardent feminists. The advertisers trade on that. That’s deep. That’s very hard to overcome. That’s both an individual and a cultural problem.
But many women never seem to consider that a great many men aren’t dumb enough to buy the 25 and thin forever image and don’t really demand to be constantly pleased. They might actually be looking for intelligence, heart, affection and respect instead of a perfect ***. Not all, often not the young, but many.
At some point, you have to say no and mean it. You are not your age, dress size, cup size or waist size. Those are just outward manifestations of the true you. If someone rejects you on the basis of such ephemeralities, you are better off without them. You have to take control of your soul. No one can give you that except yourself. You have to live with yourself just as men have to live with themselves. Again, humanity trumps gender.
I unabashedly love women. They have been one of the great delights of my life. I love the difficulties and the differences. What a woefully dreary world it would be if men and women were they same. So, it pains me to see so many women in so much pain.
You are, first of all, a person and that is worth insisting upon. Insist. Demand. Escape, if necessary. Be the only you you can ever truly be. Then you will feel pretty. And you will be as pretty as you feel.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dbshnvztGA

  ~mce
Apr 2016 · 896
Single Sentence Explosion
Mike Essig Apr 2016
Wovon man nicht reden kann, darüber muss man schweigen.*

Within the
scrambled syntax
of lust we seek
the certain
grammar of love.
Choose any noun
I’ll become
your adjective;
Choose any verb,
I’ll modify you.
Together we will
birth a single
perfect sentence:
complete, simple,
compound, complex,
wholly… us.

  ~mce
Apr 2016 · 2.7k
For The Nurses Of Vietnam
Mike Essig Apr 2016
Twenty or twenty-one. All volunteers. Barely women.
Straight from school in a thousand small towns.
Straight into the mud and blood and madness.
We dragged our dying to their open arms.
Twelve hours shifts; often more. Wreckage of violence.
Round eyes. Smiles that healed. Hearts that broke.
Girls treating boys. Telling the necessary lies.
You're OK. You're fine. You're going home.
Valor danced in their faces. Lips that spoke hope.
Old now or dead. But forever young and alive
in the memories of 150,000 wounded soldiers
they saved and sent back to the world.
   ~mce
Apr 2016 · 557
Gentleness Factory
Mike Essig Apr 2016
You are a
gentleness factory;
I want to
wrap my heart
up in all your
easy goods.
  ~mce
Apr 2016 · 656
Dance Where You Are
Mike Essig Apr 2016
Move to the energy
of love which balances
the chaos of existence.
Love for yourself.
Love for your lover.
Love for the universe.
Make it a prayer.
Meditate upon it.
Dance actively among
the waves and photons.
Make it a dance of joy.
Dance yourself to ecstasy.
Become the energy
you sought and smile
at the fangs of death.
This is the only
immortality available.
Be at home in the world
you have made.
Where else can you live?
Where else would you want to?
Dance where you are.
Smile.
   ~mce
Apr 2016 · 520
Moon Dance
Mike Essig Apr 2016
If I saw you
naked and dancing
in the pale moonlight,
your body
perfect in my mind,
your grace a holiness
of abandon,
a Muse of lust
and purity,
I would still be
jealous of Luna's eyes.

  ~mce
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Avoid interstates and airplanes
whenever possible.
Never clean your shotgun
while depressed, listening to
George Jones and drinking whiskey.
Visit between the thighs of women,
but do not become stuck there.
Remember that gold is only a color.
Consider that while drunk
is sometimes absolutely necessary,
sober has its virtues, too.
Assume that you are wrong
and you will probably be right.
Believe in birdsong and blueberries.
Know that when the chips are down,
blood is usually thicker than water.
Doubt the lulling attractions
of usury and power.
If there is any way to stay clear
of marriage and war, do so.
Pay no attention to this list,
make your own, take it to heart,
and never consider it finished.

  ~mce
Mar 2016 · 2.1k
Angel Porn
Mike Essig Mar 2016
She was the
heavenly centerfold
in the magazine
of his imagination.
Taunting angel ****.
Too unreal to touch,
too real not to try.

  ~mce
Mar 2016 · 447
Mortal Beauty
Mike Essig Mar 2016
You take my heart
I'll take yours

carefully gently
with skilled fingers

we will merge them
into one Heart

that beats so loudly
and with such wild joy

the very angels
will tremble above

stunned and amazed

by the sound of so much

mortal beauty

  ~mce
Mar 2016 · 455
Two Backs; One Beast
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Hover above me
on your knees.
Let gravity pull
your *******
and your hair
toward my lips.

Put your hands
upon my shoulders.
Press like a panther.
Envelop what I am.
Undulate your hips
until they begin
to writhe in rhythm.

Until we become
only one entwined
bewitched being,
magically merging
without beginning,
without an end.

Eternal whirl of wonder.

  ~mce
Mar 2016 · 2.8k
Buttons
Mike Essig Mar 2016
How I long
to unbutton you,
Lady, to slowly
peel off the layers
of your being
and feel you,
body and soul,
naked and true,
beneath my
exploring hands,
touching the core
of who you
really are,
there where
you are hidden
beneath it all.

I think, Lady,
you have
been buttoned
against the world
too, too long.

Open the inside
to the outside.

Take a chance.

A world at bay
is no world at all.

Nothing of value
can be learned
at a distance.

Direct my fingers;
they are willing
if you are.

Bare hands,
bare hearts,
bare bodies:

to open,
always better
than to close.
Mar 2016 · 592
Not PC Me
Mike Essig Mar 2016
When I get really decrepit,
I will wear mismatched clothes
on purpose; fill my pockets
with useless pennies; leer
lasciviously at girls far too
young; mutter arcane
wisdom to myself just loud
enough to hear but not to
understand; eat everything
that makes the health Nazis
cringe; smoke in inappropriate
places; get drunk in the
mornings if I so desire
and smoke *** in public.
It will be an ecstasy to
not give a rat's *** what
anyone thinks. My only
regret will be that I
did not start sooner.

   ~mce
Mar 2016 · 608
Old
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Old
A self-portrait.*

Gaze into the mirrored face
of the drunk man. See the
blurred innocence of
the departed boy. There are
no worlds but this world.
War, women and whiskey
do their destruction.
A man becomes what
a man does, but sometimes
that can’t be helped.
Perhaps a thousand more
lives must be lived
to undo the doing, to
break the bonds of Karma,
to find the arms of peace.
Every day a good day to die.

  ~mce
Mar 2016 · 529
Hokahey!
Mike Essig Mar 2016
For Jim Harrison, 1938–2016*

Everyone takes the Ghost Road. End as beginning. Flowing.
You loved water more than fish, birds, even poetry.
Now your soul is immersed in infinite waters. Paradise.
Now you swim the particles. Fish the waves. Dead eye open.
Nothing foreign. Parts. Whole. Served. Serving. Never alone.
Jim Harrison, the man I have long considered America's best living poet and novelist, took the Ghost Road today. I have read every word he has ever written, some many times. I have proselytized for his work for over 30 years. I never met the man but I feel I have lost one of my closest friends. My world is a lonelier place. Water ran through all of his works. Wherever you are Jim, I hope the waters flow. Swim in peace. Hokahey.
Mar 2016 · 1.2k
Florilegium
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Poetry is plunder. Ages provide words. Dig.
An immense temple to pillage. Random pieces. Mine.
Fit them to your hands. Create in you what is new.
Craft, not magic. Become a better maker, Strive.
Content created hound snaps. Only ignore. Cur.
What will you do with these little fragments. Frown.
Camels have seductive eyes but remain ugly.
Difficult metaphors in bow ties, black swans, duchesses.
Screaming trees fuse with sound. Crows. Funereal fowl.
Dancing butterflies darken sky. The chairs are leaving.
Piece together fragments against your ruin. Futility.
On other mornings, seek silence. You won't find it.
What you loveth well remains. Of the heart. Be.
You are an artist. Shut the **** up. Do your art.
     Most of the time you will fail,
     but sometimes, your poems will sail.

  ~mce
Mar 2016 · 784
Stumbling In Entropy
Mike Essig Mar 2016
The way the world ends...*

All birth a seed of mortality. The reason we come and we go is the same.
Parrots lose speech. Scarecrows attract birds. Zucchinis forget their meaning.
Clay pots yearn for earth. Everything inverts. Love> indifference> dislike.
Melting paragraphs. Pedestrians looking downward. Undelivered mail.
Fruit shrivels into donuts. The fix is in. Short everything. No tomorrow.
Empty Greyhounds ply apathetic Interstates. Nowhere to go. Not magic.
Frames without pictures. *** but motion. Carelessness abounds. No worries.
Cracks in the concrete. Death by delay. Rusted arteries. Repairs unmade.
     London Bridge is falling down, falling down
     and into the torrent we plummet and drown.

  ~mce
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Seriously*

15 ways to wake up in the morning alive.
7 ways to enjoy and be productive at your ****** job.
52 start-up ideas that will leave you starving.
72 products that no one wants or cares about.
100 services that don't matter and no one needs.
16 hints for moving out of your parents' house.
11 methods for reading things longer than paragraphs.
42 reasons why you will never, ever get a real job.
97 hacks for surviving without a phone for 10 minutes.
26 things to do about tattoos that will haunt you.
33 ways to publish content and never get paid.
63 reasons the world is just not that into you.
One million ways to write an article that is not a list.
Show that entrepreneurial spirit. I believe in you.

  ~mce
Mar 2016 · 736
Nothing And Less
Mike Essig Mar 2016
On my Father's death last night.*

Death of a father. Night of nothing. Morning of less.
Anhedonia. A family like the Walton's on crack.
Drama looms. Not a human feeling in the bunch.
Death a hyena at camp fire's edge. Light goes out.
Step up to the grave. Now you are first in line.
Mortality worm gnaws. No exemptions. Gnaw back.
We are but a moment's sunlight. Some not even.
Only lesson. World goes on. Without us. An instant.
Good morning blues. Blues how do you do.

  ~mce
Mar 2016 · 1.7k
Sneaky
Mike Essig Mar 2016
This is just to say,
try my new book today!

http://amzn.com/B01D6KG7HK

:)

mce
Mar 2016 · 594
Cavë Idüs!
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Grab Your ***** And Hide The Starch!*

Begin the day with a lean and hungry cook. Seize her.
Catch the tide or lose your dentures. Vault of jars.
Cry "Amuck!" and let slip the hogs of yore.
Bid me done, and I will thrive on the impossible.
This foul **** shall stink above the hearth.
Pardon me, you breeding piece of worth.
You crocks, you crones, you worse than senseless things!
Consider the I'd's and beware of scam.
Perhaps by dusk you can say: This was a yam!

  ~mce
Mar 2016 · 618
Riding The Random
Mike Essig Mar 2016
These are merely instances.* Wallace Stevens

Pick random points and place together. Pattern.
This map expands beyond its margins.
Vines of hysteria cover all. Swallowing.
The shell shock of the normal. Mind shrapnel.
Clocks kept in closet. Time out of mind.
Learning the algebra of flesh balances all.
These words torn from silence. Moral surgery.
Endless intimate details bore to the bone.
Pointless nostalgia for the forgotten.
Science of the lambs. Send up a woman.
The futile sexuality of questions. Will she?
Conjunction junction has lost its function.
You are the poet. What did you make of this?
Roll the dice twice. Call that meaning.
What a long strange text it has been.

  ~mce
Mar 2016 · 1.9k
How To Have A "Nice" Day
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Enjoy what’s possible
in this impossible world.
Eat any food the 
health ****’s despise.
Grin maniacally at
every toddler you meet.
Chant politically incorrect
words on public transportation.
Kiss random puppies.
Face down glowering cats.
Chuckle in the face of death.
Forget the odds,
you didn’t calculate them.
Make a joyful noise
with everything you’ve got.
If you can’t imagine a future,
you’re already dead.
Celebrate with enthusiasm,
time is very, very short.

   ~mce
rw
Mar 2016 · 770
Swimming In Possibilities
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Doesn't matter
if your eyes
are brown,
hazel or green;

they remain
pellucid pools
into which
I want to dive;

living
possibilities
I yearn
to explore;

mysteries
only I can
illuminate.

Allow me
to try.
   ~mce
rp
Mar 2016 · 1.1k
Planning Is Everything
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Another day and what to make of it? Tu Du list.
Things start to happen, don't worry. Don't stew.
Water down darkness. Ask the sun for a light.
Loot Frederick's of Hollywood. Cultivate pompous grass.
Rewrite Moby **** as free verse. Irritate life with art.
Plant Rhino rhizome and grow *****. Turn over an old leaf.
Take a road trip to a state of anxiety. Try chewing gun.
Play the Jew's harp in a mosque. Pray for drains.
Steal a cop from a donut. See if LSD still works.
Listen to Rockabilly noir. Experiment with dysentery.
Set out buckets to catch sky. Talk with, not to, turnips.
Insist on having the last word. Get it. Die.
   Or just admit another wasted day,
   lonely as your heart, not as grey.
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Alchemy is the art of the far and near as is poetry.*

Prima Materia. ****** alchemists groping, questing.
The Face of God. Omphalos. The Chapel Perilous.
Lost path through invisible forest. Hazard.
Base metal to gold. Ignorance to wisdom.
Crucible of transformation. The Rosy Cross.
Inner distillation. Metamorphoses. Essence.
To be bathed in the breath of infinity. Crystalline.
Quantum foam. Particles. Waves. Plenum of possibilities.
     Moving through the world of illusion,
     seeking the sacred glory of fusion.
Mar 2016 · 543
Perhaps There Is A Next
Mike Essig Mar 2016
I don't work,
in the usual sense,
and I won't ever
do other's bidding
again, but many do
(I had not thought
death had undone
so many
) and they
wear me out.
Mornings away,
afternoons home.
In between,
nugatory labors.
It is exhausting
to consider and
makes me want
to take a nap.
I'm weary
in general
and drowsy
in particular
and have
a great notion
to depart this
aeonian hell
of automatons
and hebetude
for some place
where birdsong
and sunlight
and kisses
are work enough.

~mce
Mar 2016 · 1.1k
Please
Mike Essig Mar 2016
Kiss me until
all the metaphors
vanish and poetry
becomes reality.

  ~mce
rp
Mike Essig Mar 2016
A competition of realities. Every narrative a life. Choose.
You tells yer story and you takes yer chance. Gambol.
No one knows the truth but you and you don't either.
Truth as Hydra. Lop off them heads to no avail.
Grey cat on bookcase. truth. Pain of broken heart. truth.
First morning cigarette. truth. Collapse into ******. truth.
Millions of truths conspire to create The Truth.
     We are fabrics woven of infinite strings
     Complexly simple in this world of things.
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