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
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Testing The Booky

Dogs bark
at the sea-break,
buildings getting
taller and taller.

I guess we’re testin’ the booky,
testin’ the booky.

A philosophy teacher
once told me,
“Go out there,
and test that god-damned booky.”


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

Bells of Tolrileum

The Bells of Tolrileum
I heard during torture,
the marketization, rule systems,
and subjugation
of
people.
The unfreedoms.
The magik. Symbology.

I remember the lost civilizations

          the Way of the Queens

          the days of learning and courage

          introspection with molecules.

I heard the Bells of Tolrileum.

Now
others are hearing.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Enzyme Face With Gravy

You, the bite of grape after wine,
I cried on your breasts.
My tears fled to the desert,
waves of sand, waves of water.
I made oceans fall apart
when the world was just beginning.
Took bites of cheese in front of you,
swallowed.
The cliffs of mountain sides
were falling down every 24-hour cycle.
Infantile planets do that.
You must pick them up,
raise them to their solar star
so that they will photosynthesize.
I was thriving in your tenderloin muscles,

a co-enzyme I think I am.


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

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

Θνησιμότητα

We’re all going to die.

The Universe will decide.

Will it decide?

Or will it just do?

Do what it does to our cells.

Do what it does on days

when our best friends die,
when we eat grilled meat on a stick,
smoke cigarettes,
read about maniacal politicians,
or lay down to sleep.

We all go away,

in one way or another,

forgotten in anonymity
after twenty-five
or
ten thousand years,

our purpose extinguished,
our intentions vanished,

weathered down in ceremonial
stone,

so some pompous asshole
can say,

“I know what they meant.”

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

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.

The 20th Century (Still Upon Us)

I found myself looking for people
when
the world had locked them away
and privatized them.

Put them in beige boxes to do
their work everyday from
eight a.m. to five o’clock p.m.

Placed them in orderly housing,
turned on the TV for them to
stare into and
handed them bills and mortgages
to adhere to.

Driving their Ford trucks and Chevy’s.

I looked in the forests,
over grasslands,
under real skies, clean air,
with the ancestral stars at night.

I looked and no one was there,
learning the anthem of the cosmos,

the form
of the human
that is being,

the kind of consciousness suspended
in time.

No,
I looked and they were watching TV.

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.