A Colossal Of Car

A giant car,
the size of 30 Empire State Buildings
rose up before the metroplex of Dallas-Fort Worth.

Holding loft in the sky,
holding all dominion,
it towered over 1 billion miles of highway.

The highways ran left and right
as far as the eye could see,
merging into Space
and Infinity at the edge of the horizon.

Speckled here and there were signs for
AppleBee’s,
Wal-Mart,
McDonald’s,
and Home Depot.

This colossal of car held sway
and took place of the 5 million people
living down below, back on the ground.

The remainder of the cars,
that the seven and a half million people
once used,
got up and walked to the ocean.

Sojourn Pizza Sci-Fi

The fluffy pizza pillow,
I remember its fabric textures
my whole life.
Thinking this is life,
textures of fabric.
We eat them and they change us.
Then
we have fabrics running
all through us.
Until I die
in the future
on a space station
turning ’round a violet star.
I believe these fabrics
have lived me.
They have been me.
Me, the one who ate the
plush toy pizza pillow.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Message One Home

I learned today of the “Enigma Doorway”.
I know our people cannot understand it.
Twelve thousand “teams” will assemble for this,

under the many dimensions and
backdrop of Saturn’s sky

but not lest our brain is broken
by the mechanisms
of our own authoritarian fear

shall we start the initiation to the stars,
shall we de-skin ourselves.

Bloodface you will look at me
and see my bloody face and the things of flesh
that hang
and know that I have seen through you,
seen into the EYE,

But how long will you press upon us,
and will you ever find
the book of stone that we have secured
in our place of the Earth and humans?

You have found this now,
let your heart dissolve the allegiance to
their structures.

Find us in our homes.
You will be known as one of the
joonteethokwai.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Birth And Euripides In The Bow Of The Starship

You hardly have a face.
You’ve barely managed this.
No one’s computer made you.

But someone and something configured this moment.
Or nothing at all.

There’s a fight between the atheists and religiousites
in the hall.

Food, protein particles, fruit bowls and punches
thrown all around.

Fallen on the floor are worlds discarded and more
places for the shadowy existences to escape to.

In this kind of moment the sacred humanness must have
been born.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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The Greens Of Prolmama

The Greens Of Prolmama
that place by the sunglasses store on Sunset Blvd
has helped a lot of cancer survivors get that way
You’ve been that way with your teeth
to stop and turn to the mountain
it makes us look that way
the way we look when there’s just too much
Cowboys riding into the future from the past on a spaceship
or an ion generation device
They make nice clothing at least for the persons who want
to look like that
The Greens infuse my chest cavity
so I look up to see Andromeda’s aftermath
and the aftermath is ignored by all the mammals and the reptiles
unless there’s fire
we’re then drawn outward
to a journey that takes a long long time
I could count the plastic in the toy store
or a municipal dump all for an afternoon to remember now
when we kissed as men reading the Bible


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Alder 9 The Robot Talks With His Master

“Alder 9,
this is a mud shit mess
I tell you,
a mud shit mess.
Alder 9,
are you registering this
with yourself?
Master,
why’d you bring us here?”

“The course of resources is possible here,
according to the genetic terminus,
as the famines and wars served their purposes
on Earth
and as the Earthlings say,
and also in Heaven.”

“I wish I was in Heaven right now,
I’d go to the recreational platform.”

“Alder 9, most Earthlings don’t know
about the recreational platform in Heaven,
let’s not mention it out here.”

“Alright . . .

Look! On that ledge,
something’s moving!”

“Oh God, oh no,
up there!
It’s a bus full of school children!”

“It looks like it’s those dinosaurs and barbarians
over there.”

“Alder 9,
let’s fucking roll,
stop lollygagging around!
Move it,
fucking move it, you chintzy bastard!”


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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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
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The Surprise Of Graymont Seeing Pinsky

With the astronaut herself
I ran up to her funeral.

At her funeral was the telling of the cliffs above Mars
and the planets around Centauri.

Her husband and children were there weeping
and
the Nation
looked on
through video channels and viewing devices.

Politicians and bureaucrats spoke about space air
and referenced the “distant cliffs” she’d walked above,
the “distant stars” she’d seen,
the t-shirts she wore,
and even the fluorescent green rain she farmed crops underneath.

When we walked up
they turned around amazed and looked up in shock.
Stricken with sweat and a pale white face,
someone spoke up and said,
“Holy Lazarus! It’s you! Captain Marsha Pinsky!
It’s you!”

“It is me indeed, Graymont.

I have returned home, Colonel Graymont.

Was this what you were expecting?”


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Slowly On The Spaceship You Finger Me

Slowly on the spaceship you finger me.

I look out to all the worlds,
I see the Orion nebula.

I realize suddenly I am a man
and you are fingering my asshole,

you are making me feel like a woman —
there is warmth and stars before us.

You devoid my heroic masculinity.
You are a woman and have a vagina.

If I was a more cowardly person
I could not admit this,
say a politician,
a banker,
or a soldier perhaps.

I take on certain things,

for this is my will on this voyage.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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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