The Countenance Unto Doctor

“God having a penis.
The reasons, Dr. Morgan Rutherford;
I spent time by myself alone
and no one came.”

“And you say God has a penis?
Why can he not have problems
with his asshole?
Or, viscosity and talking lips
that ramble the fates of men?”

“But Doc, how glorious should I die
in the stillness of the countryside
with a 12-gauge shotgun
blowing my fucking brains out?
Stallions run outside.
Oak trees dream under that sky.
My parents would say ‘O my God’,
God would die with me,
would he not?”

“Well yes, yes, I am doctor.”

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

The Bronzed Hills Near Marathon

You carve me in the ledges of your back,
I am hiding in the bronzed hills near Marathon.
It will be a long walk back to the metropolis,
that descension towards the lower lands,
scattering the hairs of dusk,
leading to good-byes across the Aegean.
Farewell ancestors of yesterday,
today I love for you, King Minos.
I will watch blue layers unfold below and above me.
I will drop my Adam’s apple.
I will thirst.

When I see you next,
I will carve your breasts
at a banquet held midday.
Fruit in our love life drips
and I wash you with it
and drink the washings.

In the silence of a white plaster room,
white lighted by sunshine and vaporous breathing,
a dance of zygote dissipates.
The age of gods and goddesses is born, lived,
and died.

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

As Brother

I’ve gone beyond the walls,
beyond the walls of Athens

to smoke my cigarette

with the Arabs, the Africans, and Persians.

Though I go not here to
turn on Athens,
to show no one the entrance into her,

but to be with these ones as other,
to smoke with them
as brother,
in the hours of the citrus sun,
the yellow, the gold, the white, and red,

for those of us who have arms and legs.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

Above Calypso’s Sea

There was an island here
that held my carnal desires.

When shadows showed
on the cavern walls
from the fire
I ate them.
I fucked them.

Tumbling into the night.
Twisting close to stars.
Not quite celestial.
Not earthen.
Not there in one way
or another.

Between happiness,
long forseen in the world
of the future,
allured and drunk.

But the old winds came,
brought a priestess
to take me to the coasts of the humans,
so I could see
their achievements and failings,
their temples and refuse,
then
I could see myself
in the words I’ve written and others
who write in me
at the wooden table
in the daylight and the midnight
that
completes the verse of the wave . . .

the one, one wave.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

Faux Paella

There’s something called a faux paella.
I make it when nobody’s looking.
I take my girlfriend down to the beach.
Yeah yeah yeah.
The faux paella . . . fuh fuh fuh,
faux paella!

It sits on a window seal in a dish.
The cops on the street look up at it.
The encyclopedia doesn’t dare speak of it.
The faux paella.

Now after it’s been cooked the process is finished.
You fake what’s been done in a pan – in a pot.
The priest is restrained and also well beaten.
O holy lake of fire.
The Holy Spirit jumps up out of it.
Toss it in an oven in between breathing.
Some people spill it on the beach.
Faux paella.
Yeah yeah yeah.
Faux paella!

The police are here to arrest all of you.
Faux paella!
Oh yes, faux paella!

I gnash my teeth and bash out windows.
Oh my Lord,
not again, not in my friend’s car,
the bombs are loud, the smoke is blue.
The faux paella!

News of a new war.
The faux paella!
The economy’s not doing good.
That’s the faux paella!
Arm the national police force
with the faux paella.

The faux paella . . . fuh fuh fuh,
faux paella!

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

Crags Of Delphi In Kohl’s

I’m going into Kohl’s
at seven thirty seven A.M.

I’m going into Kohl’s.

Have I not lived?
Am I alive?
Is this what I’ve done with
my partitioning?

The fluorescent lights
split
thoughts in my brain.

I was once alive again.

A bird.
In sky.

There’s a song beyond sky.
A song without.
A song within.

I go into Kohl’s but still
I live,
my eyes on last year’s
Super Bowl sweatshirt,
a pretzel bite dissolved in
my mouth,
memories of my vanished father,
visions of the crags of Delphi
from the air.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

The Efficacy Of Tourist

The toilet in Cairo did not work.
The toilet in Seattle did work.

The water stains in the toilet bowl.

The toilet in Mexico City did not work.
The toilet in Chicago did work.

The towels were complimentary.

Complimentary.

The toilet in Calcutta did not work.
The toilet in New York City did work.

The rose colored soap did smell.
The rose colored soap could not be found anywhere.

Children were included in the price.
Children were not included in the price.

The toilet in Gaza did not work.
The toilet in Miami did work.

There were new people included in the price,
beautiful women to jack off to on TV.

The toilet in Kingston did not work.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
from:
antipoémus thumbnail image Antipoémus (poetry book)

Jesus Of Nazareth (Third Grade Mentalities)

He did not die.

He lives forever.

He does not live in a world of make-believe.

He did not die.

He lives forever.

He is Jesus Christ.

He is not something floating in the realm of belief.

He walks on water!

He applies to all the stars that have ever existed
and all civilizations across every planet,

for even if
they do not know Jewish Palestinian Aramaic,
ancient Greek,
or English,

he still speaks to them.

Even if
they have have not eyes or mouths,
they still taste and see . . .

he is white,
with long hair,
wears robes,
walks with legs and feet,
and has a beard.

He is real.

Rosa For Our Feudal

Today she is working
in the sunlight of a courtyard,
bringing police officers and civil clerks
tortilla chips and soda-water.

Rosa is bringing the sunlight on trays
to her masters.

They issue dollar bills and sustenance.

A Winter At Valley Forge

We took drugs,
we charged on the military.

The military filed reports
saying
“you can’t charge on the military.”

The President filed reports
stating
there was a new war against the military.

CNN covered stories exonerating
War Machines.

It was opened a
Henry Kissinger School for Diplomacy.

It was a four for one sale, Margaret.

We loosened our diapers and
played with our doo-doo.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
from:
antipoémus thumbnail image Antipoémus (poetry book)