Without Time Machines

I will love you with your
genital herpes.
I promise I am valiant
and cannot find
the likes of such a woman
during any of the decades
before disease,

cannot find the man that makes
the machine
that makes disease,

but I understand the CIA
is hiring the best,
my dear lady, J. Edgar Hoover.

Poetry from tewkMehrtin.com

Eternity Season

Perish for those unknown
the ways of perishing
haunt the wood of farmhouses
the worries of housewives

we shall not perish as stone
I promise you

perish in riches or searches
the lashes of the ocean

those that seek SHALL perish
the ones who speak
the misguided seekings
are no better than computers
or all this software cast about

we are flesh and blood
in this household

we are bonded together
your mother, brother, sister and I

but the father is wayward
and symbolically, the same as illusion itself

in the elements of the Universe
testosterone is insignificant and has no register
and software is always virtual

don’t be software

we are flesh and blood
in this household


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

The 100 Trillion Distances

The door to my room
looks like it goes somewhere,

to a land of opportunity maybe,
to a corridor leading into outer space?

The light of my room
is a day
under which
isolated men lay scattered on islands and beaches.

Their skin and my skin,

it is more different here than the planet the women live on,

the all-exuding sun! the all-exuding sun!

it is more different here than the planet the women live on.

There are 50,000 islands between me and the next man,

languages as vast as the stars
that we mutter to the mercantile winds,

tears that no other civilization will know.

We beat our heads with rocks
as we stand on our islands looking out to sea.

The light of my room is a solitary place I dwell.

Would you call this existing in an atmosphere
of phosphorescent glowing

. . . a body of penis and beard and prison?

It is appearance.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Semen And Scorpions

Semen and scorpions.
We gotta do this.

Resurrect the old ages
and improve them
before the scriptures existed.
Correct the old follies
of leaders,
of men always,
this is the case,
what a shit show is the
biological being with
ballz dangling between
his legs,

so vulnerable.

We’ve got to correct him,
the weakling
leading everyone astray.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Variable Vector Sexism

Mankind has a penis.

: A woman has 2 penises.

God has designed Woman
to carry 2 erect penises on
her chest.

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

My Daughter As An Isolated Island

As a daughter I will make her isolate,

stern,

I will make her as St Kilda

so that no government, ideology
or
paradigm of oppression may enslave her.

The approach to the sea will only be defined
by her hours,
her journey into the light and mist
and back again,

whatever blue skies she shall scatter,
shall be scattered.

Whatever buckets of rain are brought,
the buckets shall be loved
in storm and sunshine.

We will kiss the mossen land

and this will be her kingdom in the new
epoch of Man.

Thus all ideologies fall and the
cult of the Moloch,
the cult of masculine insecurities withers

. . . there, on the outskirts of islands.

Our Father, The Anal

“His family was wealthy.”

What this means is often that
his father had a penchant
for putting objects up his ass,
not “his” ass, but his father’s
own ass.

I’m not sure why, but about
80% of wealthy patriarchs
have a thing for putting
things up their ass.

Maybe it is another way for them
to consume more and more,
as much as possible of the world.

Their appetite is voracious and
most of us want to be like them,
the wealthy patriarch, putting
things up our ass.
It’s true, we do.

Most of them have diamond or
at least cubic zirconia encrusted
butt plugs.
But us, most of us, we don’t.

A Photon’s Pubescence

 

Ten children are missing
in the place between
here
and
now.

They’re left for air and radiation,
our Father’s home is in the sky.

The housing development contains wood panel walls
and alarm clocks,
tables with plates of crackers sitting on top them
and spilled cups of juice.

The housing development expands
and receives
the edge of Space and the daybreak.

Between 500 square miles a cosmic living room
begins to open to the heavens, ballistic missile silos,
and the ionized atmosphere.

There are the children,
in uniforms and now giants in mirrored optical physics.

A character in a cartoon show yells,
“It’s an optical illusion, we’re headed to Dimension 15!”

The character is being shown to you on television
(or in the mirrored optical physics market).

The E.M.F.H. For Male Mentality

No man can survive on peanut butter, bread,
cereal and milk.

“No man is an island.”

No man alone can make a family.

Every man is a worker,
in some crummy sense.

The Commandant of Babyboomer says,
“Every man for himself”.

A Death On Romanticisms

A father is a hero
much greater than the sum of all
contrived phrases

and father is greater than the
touching things
we make and let go of

making up air or moments

made up revelry

a father ain’t a tree

but a piece of rock
that it takes a preacher to pick up
and call it sacred

without the acts of procranation
by language
a father remains fragile

as he is inside himself,
inside his head

without the hips of a woman a father
remains nothing

or null

flames of acetone, moss on a mountain

we thus make heroism as it is needed

and speak mythically of his actions.

Every father is a hero
(in the context before Time is realized).