Quality Of Life

“I’m
gonna sit here
and
drink
my canned soda
until
my liver
makes me
bored.”


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
from:
lovers of the century thumbnail image
Lovers Of The Century (poetry book)

Epsilon Heroic

He can punt like a motherfucker.
Jared can throw it far.
I got the size,
you got the power.

When is Marcus going to get his car?


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

Living In The Midwest

We received clothing from a factory.
It was after the first winter.
We ate our meat out of cans.
It had all come from so far away.

Who knew about this technology?
Who knew anything anymore?

Tomorrow we set out across the plains
to find it.
Our first winter has come to an end.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

What Never Stops

Grandmother is going shopping
for things in Costco®.

Palenque is in Costco®,
Mexico and Italy as well
are also in Costco®.

The days do not end.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

Los Burger King Pimploss

Bury my body in Burger King

that it should be usurped into Living
where
the Universe parts

and the boxes of the same things
with the same music playing

shall be the Key to Freedom.

. . . the beach of the first light.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

Appointment With Directors

Chase the hills in Mexico,

followed the tones of your skin into shadows,

by the morning the sun was there

all eyes were open
and the beaches bartered eternity,

I reached for a tortilla.

The moss and mold hid, then fell apart
underneath
the eyes of the onward looking directors of Universe.

Afternoon cascaded down your legs
dribble dribble
and my head feels so good,
I smell the old plants,

let me eat the oranges in a still room,
god damnit, I am like an old man.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Coinkydink Simulacra

At the Center For Questionable Thought
we waited on a delivery,

while waiting we chatted, talked,

watched the sun go down over the
fields outside the windows,

it bleached the air with some sort of electricity
that was orange

and it excited us and the insects out in the fields too.

We drank a couple beers, held their tastes,
smelled the smell of the old place,

I do recall a smell of dank linoleum.

We also did a bunch of filing of papers and organizing
all the boxes by their months and years.

We waited for the deliveries
and were congenial with each other as we did,

as we were inside that structure.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Both Brains

They let him go
when he was young and dying of cancer,
drifting through outer-space
they let him go,
the last people’s race of people
didn’t own him,
floating past nationalism and liberty
as cancer an eternalness created
archetypes of the sufferer,
the fear of the shadow,
just the vessel of the genome,
we lift you up to the cluster,
the ridge of stars.
Child without childhood
reaches for your fingers,
the seven wrinkles,
your chance to perceive things

but it ran away with the forms and
words of humanness,
just the vessel of the genome,
information is transferable
in
this
standing in a field before a 7-11®,
a parent kisses their child at college
in Kansas.

They got to go to college,

wave, wave . . . waves

but wave to the abilities of Einstein,

those crackling transmissions of the
Pentecost,
those crackling wavebands of gray.

Jesus saves.
Computers save.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Nothing More Can Go Wrong, Chicken Tenders

In the backyard is a plow.
No one knows quite what to do with it.
It sits with its wood rotting
and its iron rusted
as a sculptural piece in a flowerbed.
There’s also a grave for a hamster named Dinky,
a stone, here by the plow,
painted with neon green and pink fingerpaint.
The stars are silent.
My grandmother would not agree with the situation.
She would not have belief or comprehension of it.
Her wrists would bleed and her feet would hurt.
She would have misunderstanding,
befuddlement and fear.
She would not discuss.
She would be worried to be in this place.
Her eyes would twitch and her brow would crinkle.
It’d be a look your gut would decipher.
I’m pretty damn scared right now to look at the plow.
I can’t look up.
I can’t look at the garden or the birdbath.
I know the oak trees stand there brooding over me,
thinking
“What the fuck are you people doing?”

I don’t know who is wrong.
If anyone can even be wrong anymore?
If we can even do this or that?
I think genetics are dead or
they are living.

I don’t think we can.

I am a box.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Moustache, Sunglasses, Ball-cap, Dandruff

On Sunday, June 19th,
Jesus Christ
will be preaching
his stuff
at
your local Waffle House.
Complimentary
blood grits
will be served.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
from:
lovers of the century thumbnail image
Lovers Of The Century (poetry book)