Homo-Soluble

Clearly I see now the carbon women
and their symbols

from their suburbs and the Centers of Ine,
the shopping,
they’ve attracted the loyal conscript eyes
looking for the moment and its eternity,
salvation of self, bandage of head,
every glance kills this self of her universe,
she trades
the confidence of sex organs

a million universes have fallen,
fried potato skins and appetizer plates,
she looks for the stopper of stuff and time,
the heroism and the TV message.

Clearly I see now the tired men
and structures they build as both
the laborers and architects,
they are hourly and salaried,
with after-shave, as business owners,
you’ve seen them,
they support
and she makes wishes in her parlor room,
or at airports on the precipice of
salvation vacation,
the fields into outer-space,

I have killed and it was this self
inside the windows and the archetype
on the town square.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Epsilon Heroic

He can punt like a motherfucker.
Jared can throw it far.
I got the size,
you got the power.

When is Marcus going to get his car?


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

Los Burger King Pimploss

Bury my body in Burger King

that it should be usurped into Living
where
the Universe parts

and the boxes of the same things
with the same music playing

shall be the Key to Freedom.

. . . the beach of the first light.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

Nothing More Can Go Wrong, Chicken Tenders

In the backyard is a plow.
No one knows quite what to do with it.
It sits with its wood rotting
and its iron rusted
as a sculptural piece in a flowerbed.
There’s also a grave for a hamster named Dinky,
a stone, here by the plow,
painted with neon green and pink fingerpaint.
The stars are silent.
My grandmother would not agree with the situation.
She would not have belief or comprehension of it.
Her wrists would bleed and her feet would hurt.
She would have misunderstanding,
befuddlement and fear.
She would not discuss.
She would be worried to be in this place.
Her eyes would twitch and her brow would crinkle.
It’d be a look your gut would decipher.
I’m pretty damn scared right now to look at the plow.
I can’t look up.
I can’t look at the garden or the birdbath.
I know the oak trees stand there brooding over me,
thinking
“What the fuck are you people doing?”

I don’t know who is wrong.
If anyone can even be wrong anymore?
If we can even do this or that?
I think genetics are dead or
they are living.

I don’t think we can.

I am a box.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Riddle Kippler

There was one long ago

a human who lived as one

but now the one of the collectively
none
had done the undone
that returns the silence of the era.

The ones and twos stand with shoulders and skin
and worry which is which, who will see

who will see me
do the things I do
standing as such in a way that others may be

looking at me.

I posture and fix my hair, set out,

go to the shopping center, greet, handshake

look for life as American Idol on TV.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Commuter Train

I have seen her breasts
pressed in between
blouses and heaven,
viewed her wedding ring
turn magazine pages
in the reflection of the
window,

going south on her
morning train
away from her husband,
suburban home, and
children,

into the city for gray rooms,
stale breath, business reports,
and the remnant of
what was human,

going south on her
morning train.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image