Postscript

Learned how to be a “valuable” worker
in a free-market economy.
Also learned to be a “team player”.
Did not learn to reject
the free-market economy
because that upsets
everyone else
still stuck
in the sham show shit scam mess.

This has a 99.9% chance
of being your postscript.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Nahuatl Codus 2

The commodity-discriminate-hospital
on purpose a backing of the
commodity-segregate-economic-system.

A champion, a prized artifice of war,
the ruler-commodity-hierarchal
of the only-thing-holy
commodity-segregate-system.

The commodity-sad-emotions and
commodity-bored&tired-spending
keep you in check,
not thinking outside of your
commodity-place-where-they-need-to-be-kept-those-people.


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

The Holiest War

In Portland, Oregon somewhere at some point in time
we found a home for ourselves.

It was not a home in a place,
but the first home to ever exist in Time.

We ran through the streets.
We sat on a beach. We fingered each other.
We ate birthday cake and exchanged our body fluids.

We flung wars to the Earth,
and wars to the mountains and the seas,
the wars ended up drifting off into eternity.

We saw the cities of the future
and lived in them in these days,

the people who are made of the ocean
and the unimagined technologies of light,

you and I,
the players of time,
the mechanics of cellular overloads,
the owners of whatever we should be,
the oligarch destroyers.

Inventius! and Realizer!,
conscripts for the Holy War Of Time.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Beings And Time

Where are you in the year?

The epoch is in the year.

The epoch eats fruit.

The Universe knows beings;
beings are owners of things.

Beings are time;

Marilyn Monroes,
Michael Jordans,
Ronald Reagans . . .

beings are time.

The Universe knows beings.

(Of course)
The owners and beings have questions.
The owners and beings attend conferences.
Who is the owner?
Who is the being?

The Universe knows time.
The Universe knows time.

(Of course
the owners and beings attend conferences.)


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Generic Rappin’ Eastside River

Suck my bleach,
yo President whitey.

Suck my bleach,
yo President whitey.

When the kingdoms you want,
the kingdoms you create.

Suck my bleach,
yo President whitey.

You suckin’ people’s faith.
You suckin’ people’s fear.

Suck my bleach,
yo President whitey.


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

Sacrifice Ye Ancestoroid

Run ‘round the rotunda brother.

Run ’round the rotunda mother.

I will bash both your heads in,
the both of you,

while you are running around the rotunda,
mother and brother
clouds do tell

the King Makers, the King Killers
lined up all around the rotunda.

You worship on both sides of morality,
worshiping, worshiping, worshiping.

Worshiping the whiteness of light
and the whiteness of stone,
the smell of mineral or concrete,
lemon scented candles,
white cotton sheets.

The Aztecs were tipped off sideways,
off into the sun.

I killed them in the Spring,
it’s like Summertime here.
My telegram to the county commissioner
standing right now by the church
said:

“O, my brother and mother are dead.
I have killed them.
In Spring it’s like Summertime here,
ten o’clock yesterday morning,
they were the walking dead,
the bait fisters . . . the bait fisters!

I’m sorry but I cannot fix this
with their knees twisted backwards, broken in time,
that bloody time
they broke with their damn bait fisting, the bait fisters
still walking, still worshiping.

It goes on in the programmatic genetics.”


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Hark, The Cement Factory

Hark-The-Cement-Factory

The Cement Factory
received the votes from Television
in
suspension in the air
promulgated the holy
high fructose corn syrup
in lungs
materials
combined from the fields.

The cancer research institutes
with the quotas,
pipelines from the funders
in the keep,
the blast padded walls
of the Cement Factory,
one in Siberia,
one in Oregon.
We keep watch of good
economies.
People have lined up.
The keepers of the Factory.

We turn to you Television.
We listen.
We receive The Activations.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

The Billionaire’s Pastiche

Riot. Riot. Riots.

They have built a mountain out of
symbols.

A net, a web, a pedagogy of
controls.

Who was this man?
Who are the high-excluded,
the killers of the four Kennedys?
These star controllers
with patents and chipsets,
electrodes and diodes,
combines
colluding the genetic flora genomes,

oh, a far off quota
hidden in iron mountains under
different ultraviolet spectrums.

For we must be altered
so they there,
so they there can live.
Remember the Agora!
Remember the Forum!

But the riot. Riot. Riots
could stop this
if words could meet them
on the other side of the electrical
divide,
beyond the spell of electrical devices,

in their hearts out in the streets.

The Riots . . . The Great Rejection.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

The Captor

To make services necessary;
to deliver us from evil

the capital of the superEconomy,

we lay undeterred in assumption
at night, in sleep

not withholding the shortcomings,
not to pronounce autonomous shadows

to be “the best we’ve thought up yet”

live upon a planet
and lay the thing to ruin,

the being as functionless rendered
of the luxury item as needed.

We place incense upon the capital,

or burn the images of Ganesh or of the Trinity,

watch it move across the ages,

you cannot earn money from the reasons of right and wrong.

It is in your head “the layout of the question”,

for
this
can
never
be
repeated.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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