MJ-PP12

Was Michael Jackson killed?

Why does this matter?

Did Michael Jackson live?

Who’s seen the farthest star?

An astrophysicist, a human.

Who’s moved that rock
on
a tomb
so far away from here?

Does Michael Jackson live?

His hands turn the stone, the tool.

Who is writing time?

Priscilla Presley shapes what
she often wants.

She reshapes the Universe,

her glorious beacon,

the projector of dark into light.

Her glorious beacon-lit brow.

 

Poetry from tewkMehrtin.com

Three Hundred Fifty Five Million

The waveform people took it.
The form of love between us,
the gravity.
Back to their mansion in the woods,
on a planet
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Can you see it leaving in the city?
In every city on the planet,
past the grimey stains
on subway stairs.
The people leaving the cities
to live like the waveform people,
in their woods
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Let them walk upon earth and snow
in the winter.
Said the waveform people.
Let them cherish their human
manners.
But the mansion is not there.
Only the blue sky
of the waveform people above.

Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
from:
Humble,Humble Love thumbnail image
Humble, Humble Love (poetry book)

What A Simulation Chances

Architectural structural changes.
How can we let him
make these changes,
David?
In his dreams.
Is this the David made
within the Bible
or a David made
within the cerebral tissues
during the dreaming sessions?
These mammals got to sleep.
Their world is made in there.
For he sleeps in the midnight
of Florida,
the tension between every moment’s
nothingness
moving onward onward always.

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

A Heart Of Elasticity

I’m building a heart,
building a heart,
building a heart of elasticity.

With olive oil, heartbreak,
stress and disease,
smoking and running,
failure and fiendism,
I’m building a heart of
elasticity.

A net of the universe,
a fabric of breath,
a bender of molecules,

I build a new heart
and the old heart
inside of me,
the same singing heart
and the super-heart ringing
in the net
of the beat.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Purported, The Magic

I look through the doorway
into the next room.

There are billion stars between me
and that next room.

Things and ways that I do not see.

But I’m a human being on Earth,
I know everything I know
because of my senses.
I trust them.
They’re efficient.
They’re logical.
They’re accurate.

I am righteous
and if I’m not, then I can rely on
the consciousness of others and
words written in scripture.

I can persecute.

Though lest I know not,
I do not see these billion stars
between me and the next room,

the wooden floor
that extends out in linear perspective,
the ports of time,
there, away from me
in the silence of the dark house
at night.

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).

Both Brains

They let him go
when he was particle-composed and had died of
cancer,
drifting through outer space
they let him go,
the people’s race of peoples didn’t own him,
floating past nationalism and liberty
as cancer an infinity emulsified
the mortal equation,
the surmountable forms of gray ways,
child without childhood
you picked at these fingers,
the seven wrinkles, your chance to perceive things
but accelerating away,
faster than cycles of sun or moon,
with the forms and “words” of humanness,

standing as a sun-drenched field before a 7-11®,
in light
a parent kisses their child at college,
the smell of wet tallgrass.

They got to go to college,

wave wave . . . wave wave
the forty classes

wave, for the presence of Einstein.
The ports and portals are much different.