Three Ages For Women

A middle aged woman
driving underneath a
midsummer’s thunderstorm
in a Kia hatchback.

She used to be attractive,
but now she doesn’t see
women who look like her
in the magazines these days.

She’s a teacher.

Had her hand chopped off
in a combine
working in cornfields in Kansas
as a teenager.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

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

Journalism Of The Americas

There were three
Middle Eastern boys
driving around
with a car bomb.

That’s all they ever really do,
drive around with car bombs.

I am Mexican.
I watch TV.

I am black.
I watch TV.

I am white.
I watch TV.

Whitey. White people.
TV good and grand for white people.
Clean your moustache, Officer Mitchell.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

Christianity, Christy

For a long time
I suffered from Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

I lived in a house on the hill.

In that house I suffered the mistrust
to believe that I suffer.

I am a candidate for pills
and evenings with pretty ladies.

There is a creation and labeling of me somewhere,

thence I take off my head and screw it
into oil cans.

I jump around and talk about tackle box
and incense holder.

I live in the house on a hill.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
from:
antipoémus thumbnail image Antipoémus (poetry book)

The Disciples Have Taken

Seldom
is
the daybreak
seen
by people
who need
to see it.

May
the city-dweller
rise
from
their TV dream
and be afflicted.

May
their veins
give up on the wine
the Roman Catholics
have given them.

At least meet me
in a heroin clinic
if you want to talk
about the Buddha.

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

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).

General Dinner Prayer (Etude Of Subordinates)

 

O life of this bird,
breaded and deep-fried.
Padded hands of god
laying the skinless muscles down
by auroras of gold and marble.
To seasoning, to spice, to oil.
For the oligarchs who
spend their vacation in God’s house:
the celebrity-chef cuisine.
For the executives who do their will:
the Palm Springs five-star cuisine.

That we may be so fortunate
for them to bring it down to us lesser,
the human beings.
Amen.

A Death On Romanticisms

A father is a hero
much greater than the sum of all
contrived phrases

and father is greater than the
touching things
we make and let go of

making up air or moments

made up revelry

a father ain’t a tree

but a piece of rock
that it takes a preacher to pick up
and call it sacred

without the acts of procranation
by language
a father remains fragile

as he is inside himself,
inside his head

without the hips of a woman a father
remains nothing

or null

flames of acetone, moss on a mountain

we thus make heroism as it is needed

and speak mythically of his actions.

Every father is a hero
(in the context before Time is realized).

Algorithm Simplest

I attacked the teenagers.
I admit I did.
I inherited them into the government.

In the greater time of decision making
one should impose the state of teenager.

Why did that person join the police force?
Adolf Hitler cherished teenagers.
Grandmother cherished teddy bear figurines.
Why are the teenagers eating snack foods on TV?
Who’s watching the TV,
what era and signal does it signal?

The Code Of The Drug

In the night
there are people
overdosing

but the night
belongs to Michelob
yeah, the night
belongs to Michelob

and in the night
where people drink
Michelob
people are overdosing
on drugs

yeah,
people are here
overdosing on drugs
and
people are there
overdosing on drugs
and
people are here
and now we have drugs
so
many many many many
god-produced drugs

yeah, now we have drugs
yes, now we have drugs
turn on your television
it says to take drugs

and the night belongs to
Michelob
and the night belongs to
Michelob

but, what’s the night?
yes
what’s the night?
yes
what’s the night?
yes
the night belongs
the night belongs

yes
the night belongs to the code
of the drug