Living In The Midwest

We received clothing from a factory.
It was after the first winter.
We ate our meat out of cans.
It had all come from so far away.

Who knew about this technology?
Who knew anything anymore?

Tomorrow we set out across the plains
to find it.
Our first winter has come to an end.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin

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

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
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

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
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

A Tempori

Ten years become twenty.
Twenty years become thirty.
Thirty years become fifty.
Fifty becomes one hundred.
One hundred becomes three hundred.
Three hundred becomes a thousand.

The bones of humans are salt and fade
and the beach is as new as the sky.

The thing that I purchased was bone.

un-hundred is doing best the duty

so is un-thousand, for you, your ego accept

we
left
purchasing
the
birds
feed
on
far
understandings


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Digital Egotist Millennial

It is after a great storm.

We were all washed away.

Even me.

“Me!” “Me!” “Me!”

Except digitally.

That is what’s left.

The oligarchs own.

The plebeians are digital.

“Me!” “Me!” “Me!”

The Influencers publish.

Go with me down to the store
in Barcelona

to get the whole seed mustard.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Eternity Season

Perish for those unknown
the ways of perishing
haunt the wood of farmhouses
the worries of housewives

we shall not perish as stone
I promise you

perish in riches or searches
the lashes of the ocean

those that seek SHALL perish
the ones who speak
the misguided seekings
are no better than computers
or all this software cast about

we are flesh and blood
in this household

we are bonded together
your mother, brother, sister and I

but the father is wayward
and symbolically, the same as illusion itself

in the elements of the Universe
testosterone is insignificant and has no register
and software is always virtual

don’t be software

we are flesh and blood
in this household


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

For You, Not Others – Americanism Software Export

The job was one of journalism,
where real resides,
behind the scenes kind of things,
more real than what you’d consider real,
fixing hot dogs or making sloppy joes.
No,
it is real.
What is real?
Who’s the realest?
Aren’t you more real than the next one.
Look over your shoulder.
See that deal,
it reflects light more than for others,
for you, not others.
Certain places are more real than others.
Los Angeles or New York City for example,
yes, they’re more real.
For real?
For real.
The pain you feel is justified most
but the presence is not that you feel pain.
Being so real, there’s not a lot that others perceive
in you.
You’re real.
The job was one of journalism,
where real does for real most really reside.
I would definitely like to touch you,
but I don’t think it’s possible,
you’re untouchable,
in control,
don’t become out of control,
stay real,
you are the real deal.


– 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)

Love After Isolation

You live with it,
you sleep with it.
It’s your computer.

You take it to the shed,
there is wood and wood to chop,
your computer sits in front of
a can of turpentine.

The grass grows tall outside,
you are at a farm in Texas.

O Penthius!
Penth Fist!
our world is made of bone and air!

The sun shines in through the window
onto your computer.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image