The Computers

I feel the same with these computers
still around me.
Brooklyn, 2004.
Chicago, 2018.
They’re still here.
Not the same computers.
But their forms and
with similar feelings,
similar smells.
Electrons activated on air.
Petroleum exhaust from the streets outside.
Wormholes have been ripped open
in our cosmic neighborhood.
But, the computers are still here
in their form and feelings.
I feel them.
I see them.
They will be something different
at some point,
but for now they’re still here within
the concrete, steel, and glass buildings
of the city
and the agencies.
The computers dream to be
deoxyribonucleic acid.
I feel it.
I have seen it.

Poetry from tewkMehrtin.com

Sleep With Books

I sleep with books.

Electricity plagues the

howlers dreams

wanting of what is shown

and things

the moment becomes

a want of one thing

then the next

the next status

celebrity

big opportunity

gotta be a thought leader

drilling into the brain

who has noticed me.

But I shut my fucking

mouth

put away those electric screens

breathe in through the nose

heart beating calm

in a house with lots of wood

and at night

I sleep with books.

Night Run Syntax

I went to the night
and I wanted to run
further and further
into the star fields above.
Into the past.
Past my own people
and their adoration of
gender and tyrants,
drunk on power,
desperate without it.

For
the people here are slaves
to desperation.

Insignificant in space,
yet precious in form.

How
can we live content
as dust?

How
can we live
and then take
our form again,
in some manner,
some way?

Further and further
into the star fields above,

I lust.
I pray.
I send signals their way.

Poetry from tewkMehrtin.com

Solaris Hymn 40

This mortal earth
aside
the millionaire denies it,
the egotist claims her
and in missing the light,
shadows,
and calculus
of Solaris,
the revelation of suffering
avoids them.

So they only pass,
leaving unloved children
to repeat their wrath
and continue
the cycles of mortals.

O hold up you high
Piraeus’ glass at midday
and know
the wealth of nothingness.

Socrates is there
with wild hair
on the bed made by slaves
still dreaming.

Sappho is dead, just dead.
Her corpse wrapped in
loins.

Poetry from tewkMehrtin.com

Without Time Machines

I will love you with your
genital herpes.
I promise I am valiant
and cannot find
the likes of such a woman
during any of the decades
before disease,

cannot find the man that makes
the machine
that makes disease,

but I understand the CIA
is hiring the best,
my dear lady, J. Edgar Hoover.

Poetry from tewkMehrtin.com

Attainment For The Jesus Brain

I have a TV in one room.
I go into the other room to watch the other TV.
Call it the Hall of Wisdom if you want.

I drink my sodas at the half hour of every hour.
Call it the Sacredness of Life at this point;

the Hours of Opportunity,
the Attainment of Ability;

purchasing.

from AntiPoemus.com

Myriad Mirmona

“The mystery of life;
see the oneness in others.”

Yes, in the separated others,

the bigots,
tyrants,
destroyers,

the fags,
invalids,
children,

“a fag brings a flower to a child,
a bigot kills them,
but the child does not die and
ails into old age without the use
of legs”,

the uneducated poor,
dutiful middle class,
gluttonous rich.

Oh, and the
bacteria, insects,
animals, plants,
humans, cyborgs,
aliens, deities, simulations.

“A sameness of individuals;
The One of Many Ways.”

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

World In Night

I go out into the world.
It’s dark.
Only insects, lamplight, and night.
You’re not there.
Evil is though.
Lots of evil is out there,
all around in the night.
The trees gather closely
over the sidewalk.
These trees know how to live
with good and evil.
Humanity does not.
So I am scared.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

S.T.R.E.N.G.T.H. Cats

In the middle of the night I awake
to the smell of bacon and eggs in the air.

The people of the world
are outside on the lawn cooking bacon and eggs
for the President of the United States.

The United States military is standing all around them,
pointing guns at them
while they cook bacon and eggs for the President.

They give him the eggs of their daughters,
their ovaries for an American football match,
a contest of strength.

The President is the Signifier of Penis.
This sentence is the signifier of rape.


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

Clown Presidential

I defend the family.
I stand upon the balance.
I defend the family.
I stand upon my head.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image