Domestic Greenleaf

Something by the river spooked me and
I thought about my finances.

Everyday
we have eaten in the kitchens of Rome
since then.

You went shopping in a furniture store.

We have bottles of olive oil and herbs
in our home of domesticity.

The visitors come, their hearts are warmed,
the scented candles burn.

An achy knee needs a bubble bath,
Fuzzy Wuzzy.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Civilization Magi

I don’t give a fuck about the
Fascists
who live on down the coast.

They’re down the coast
so I’m not really sure what I
should make of them.

Well, this morning, while having
breakfast
I’m confused.

I look out over the ocean,
over the sunshine that’s breaking
over the ocean
and I wonder about them
on down south
and I know I really could care
less about them
as human beings.

But isn’t this just like thinking
like a baby-boomer again.
What if they were going to
destroy the world,
the Fascists down south,
with their ideologies and actions,
should I care then,
shouldn’t I destroy them?

But god damn!,
isn’t this like thinking like
a baby-boomer as well?

Maybe if I go to the new
barbecue place
I can get rid of the
baby-boomer stuff,
like trade it in or something???

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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My Thing

Hispanics love big celebrations.

They’re having babies more than anyone else on the market.

We do know that they send a lot of money home.

A lot of banks now are trying to get into that market
because there is so much money there.

Most Hispanics, Mexicans specifically,
really like a lot of colors,
they like to have a lot of color around them.

L.A. has by far the largest segment of the market.

Because it is my baby I feel very strongly about it,
I very much love this market.

It is my thing;

the Hispanic market.

* This is a found poem taken from a conversation I overheard a marketing
director have with a coworker of mine once upon a time.

– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Unpublishable Savants

Guns de Militaire

guns of the gangsta

[large and proportional distances]

The poetry of journals
The poetry of the great White sentiment

Guns de Militaire

a poetry of the lower classes
[are there class distinctions?]

The Guns de Militaire

oh, but wretched guns of the gangsta


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

Le Bourgeois

Should I devein my shrimp?

I bought it in a place that
sells people shrimp.

People who work for the people
who own the place that
sold me my shrimp have
told me
it would be best of me to
devein my shrimp,
but they’ll also sell to me
a service called “shrimp deveining”.

So now I wonder,
should I devein my shrimp
or pay someone who earns
less than me a little money
to devein my shrimp?


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
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Battleship Nachos

Everyday
I count the battleships

Many more, many more do come

In your backyard we eat potato chips

The grey hulls show on water
as if like instruction manuals at night

We cut our hair
to celebrate the information . . . their information

I’ve left the canned chili in the cupboard on purpose

Rodger God comes for the blueprints

And we continue to count many more specks,
many more
on the horizon

We have to hide the information from
they hid theirs from us

You know, the fucked up eyes and fingers

Let us break those fingers and plant the turquoise
in the ground
for the squirrels to love in spring

Go there now in Corvettes,
GMAC Financing has zero percent A.P.R.

Go to the big big bay to see


– 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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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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Until I Have To Go Back To Work

You get to have 2 days off?

You guys are going to plug away at each other’s
buttholes
for 2 days straight.

Malachi answers
“Yes.”

“I’m going to try to keep my penis inside his ass
for the entire 48 hour period
until
I
have
to
go
back
to
work.”


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image

The Work A Metaphor

A shirt on the floor.

A shirt on the floor.
I asked and she said
and I said,
“Do no more.
Stop designing
shirts for the floor.”

The Woods of Brae
outside the door,
dangling space of spades,
crystalline webs
run a’through
the leaves.

The answers in the air,
between you and me.
And here we sit inside
the door
cramming shirts and shirts
into these cedar boards.


– Poetry by Wes tewkMehrtin
READ POETRY tewkMehrtin animated gif image