(the dark)

it is not yet light

my brain's been racing
i've been up all night.
yet, with genocide
do i sleep
and awake.

the slightest second,
but only
a camera flash
of the Sun.
now I
bake.

can you
comprehend
the insanity
and being
in the wrong mind
for a moment

and calculate
all the right debts
and all the
sandwiches and soup.
all the right muffins
and doughnuts

"I wont!"
whatever you are
going to do
leave me in
the rabbit hole
or fox den.

i will sit
in my blender
and make a milkshake
of my own
oranges and apples
blend

reason
to wake up in
The Other Mind
it can be
found
in reality.

i
worship
fear
and anyone can
see a futile mutual love
I can't get out of me

it is much more fun to be a son
than to be a father i would guess
nothing alike
nothing less
and i will go shoot myself in the chest
while wearing a bullet proof vest.

-andrew worthington

the gallopingly bad ballad of free

The Ballad of Free

In Oaxaca where weeds grow tall
There lived our gentle Free;
The wind was not so fast as he
The air was just as free.

He grew up lean and nimbly as
Strong, sweet Mexican corn;
But his parents separated
And his life turned forlorn.

He moved to California,
But found it frustrating.
He and his mom could not afford
The high cost of living.

Soccer was freedom in high school.
He kicked, he jumped, he ran.
But nights brought pain; he sold cocaine
And so the end began.

Running track freed our hero Free,
But sports could not save him.
He tried to survive day to day
But life yet seemed grim.

Till he went to Bard joyfully;
College; drugs, dance and song.
Friends abound, Free ruled his earth
With laughter he’d skip wide and long

Yet Free’s world turned tragic at once;
He loved photography.
He couldn’t pay for film to shoot
His teachers grew angry

He smoked and drank and whirled about
While his family fought.
The college put him on warning;
His problems thus were wrought

He helped sell drugs to make ends meet
But could not concentrate.
His carefree way of life was now
Caught up in his dark fate.

Security did take his name;
His troubles made to crimes.
He talked with Deans and teachers all
Yet got no help in dimes.

His grades were poor but just as bad
As sons of richer men.
So clearly money drove the school
To kick him out right then.

Against all good he was asked
To leave his bright new home.
His best of chances removed
He cried, and went back home.

-by brosephine (i think)

i am an inanimate object

i no longer read magazines in the bathroom. i hardly even take a good novel or textbook in there anymore. usually its my computer that accompanies me to the shitter. we've been together now for i'd say about a little over a year. i hardly go a day without seeing it. we will be announcing our engagement any day soon. then we will spoon and spoon like we have never spooned before.

i go to the drinking fountain and sea water comes out. i ask a man why it tastes like salt water. he says that they-do-it-for-real here. hmmmm. that's an interesting take on water. i fill a bottle full of the salt water and then tightly turn the cap closed. i will have to show this to someone. someone will marvel at this. perhaps the bank teller will. yes, i am quite certain the bank will love this!

i go to the bank and the teller tells me to give them money. i say that i didn't bring money and just want to talk. they say there is no time to talk, there's only so much sunlight, and they give me a pen to sign my paycheck that i didn't bring. i go across the street to the grocery store and buy tampons and condoms. as i am in line waiting i also decide to buy a gossip magazine and an eight-pack of peanut butter cups.

but i don't have money to pay for the peanut butter cups so i walk out of the store with the tampons, condoms, gossip magazine, and peanut butter cups. as i leave the store a man says hey. he wants to know where i am going. i tell him i don't know. he's says i have to pay for the items. i say i did.

-andrew worthington
.

ten minutes too late

Ten minutes too late.
Damn I hate the bus some days.
Its hot, bums are stinking and its three o clock
Time to deal with these wanna be thugs
Aye cuz
Look at the niggas shoes
His shoes been through more shit than yo girl
Damn why they hatin so hard
Aye what kinda shoes are those besides fucked up
Aye cuz

I blink my eyes
Glance to the right
An old lady
I cant believe this old ass lady

This old ass lady is gonna cross the street
Lady, don’t you see those cars, they comin right at
you
You gonna die old ass lady
All your bags gonna fly up then,
Rolled over, smashed to mush

Old ass lady, old ass lady
Cant you hear those horns beepin
Those men cussin
Are you deaf old ass lady
Are you blind old ass lady
You don’t see that blinking red hand
That fast ass car, swerving
You old ass lady

I cant believe this old ass lady
She actually made it across the street
This old ass lady, done did dumb shit
But she made it

I blink my eyes
Glance to my left
These wanna be thugs
Still talking shit

Aye cuz
Aye cuz what kinda pants are those
Aye blood we just missed our stop
These wanna be thugs, just missed their stop

-naqueeb

unforgiving wood

A little vomit never hurt anyone
Same goes with blood
But when you spew like she did
What you thought then, think again
The floor is useless, unforgiving wood
Destroyed carpets
The smell overwhelms the nose
Worse than death, if you can imagine that

Cant take a breath without wanting to
Spew
Its on the floor
Unforgiving wood, destroyed carpet
We gotta go

poem

Sneaking through clouds of artificial fog
Seizure inducing strobes damaging my retinas for
eternity
Hypnotized by excessively bass induced music
Wipe me down, snap your fingers
Moving, jumping, screaming
Dancing
Overachievers make out with each other
Girl on girl, they’ll love this
tattoos, frames and no lenses, go stupid, go dumb
please don’t put that up
she loves it, she hates it, he always wants it
show me , I want to see
can you take my picture

poem about i duno

You’ve got problems she said
A girl with no shoes and a string tied around her head
falls hard
You’ve got problems
You’ve got problems
Im gonna be a firefighter
Deep red lipstick like cherry pie filling
Give me what I want
Give it!
I love you you you you you
A girl waves everyday to a boy who sits on a curb
A burn out
Talk to me
I love you you you you

Where Do Flies Go?

Buzzing and humming and landing
On my shoulders, in my hair, and on my legs
So annoying
Why do flies decide to always fly by me
Swatting, fanning, blowing, thumping, flicking
It's gone
The fly is gone
Where did it go
Why ask where an annoying buzzing humming germ infested
fly went
I hope its dead
Smashed on a windshield then wiped on into thin air
But really, I wonder where that fly went
At night, after a long day of buzzing, humming and
landing
on my shoulders, hair and legs
so annoying

Dajjal Uses A Bell Curve

So I rang her doorbell,
And her mother was there.
“Hi, you must be Dale.”
“Yes, I’m here for Maryann.”

“Well come on in,”
“She’ll be down soon.”
There was a family portrait
Out on some lawn somewhere.

She was a lawyer,
Private practice and all.
Then, she officially became,
Parent association president.

“I hope I wasn’t too long.”
I change lanes, “of course not.”
“I know my mother can be nosy,”
“No, she was very nice.”

I have a bowl of soup,
And the table is round.
The waiter doesn’t bring crackers
And I’m not supposed to expect any

So the 100% orange juice
I could swear has orange peel,
And I still haven’t figured out,
Which damn spoon to use.

And not to mention the salad,
Haven’t touched it.
If you saw me there
You’d think I pissed my pants

The lady across is waiting.
She’s looking at my soup,
And her eyes are the positive
To my negative ones

The clink scratches
Of the spoon against my bowl,
The spoon I miney moed,
Are my nails on her board.

“So how’s your salad”
“It’s good, how’s the soup?”
“Fine, just fine.”
Then some more scratches.

She’s some sort of historian.
See she did art history in college,
And now she categorizes stuff;
Or something like that.

The movie was terrible,
The plot was wack,
And the artistes are all waiting
For the other to act.

The popcorn was stale,
The chairs are stiff,
And my neck is tight.
Thank god it’s the end.

We said our goodbyes,
She slipped through the door.
There was relief on both sides
Yet neither had won

So now, I really didn’t feel too bad.
I decided, to hell with it,
I will deceive them all;
And boy do I have stories to tell

An eye patch and a pen,
I will steal their opportunity,
And who cares if one eye
leaves me alone

-fernando

the sunset

the sparrow above,
the stage below.
the Sun slips
from its throne.
I grapple and gag
with palms slippery as squid,
but the lid will fall
on this cookie jar.
the sparrow will see
from afar what we can't
see up close.
"20/20 vision."
thats what the doctor said.
his head should be examined.
the famine
we cannot see. lethargic
bliss.....we've learned
to piss! (a basic human
function) is that all
we learned today?
has hunger yet
gained its place in
vocabulary? can i scratch
my hairy testicles anymore?
whore myself to four walls,
a ceiling,
and a floor?
exaggerated praise
to no one.
it's the end
of the page.
will we microwave the planet
or oven roast
and toast
to goddammit

-andrew worthington

the sunrise

they speak in tongues.
blurred hums
that i cannot silence.
i'll stay away.
sexual intercourse
with a cyborg:
a casual routine
and pleasure.
i treasure and loathe
every last moment
before i come
out of my rabbit hole
hiding. above ground
a flood is in tide.
"retreat"
the admiral calls.
to dry safety we go,
until the next morning.
the sunrise: we don't watch,
but always trust.
the slightest gust of wind
will banish all hope.
our stomachs ache,
so we feed them dope.
close our ears,
forget the droning.
alone we sit.

-andrew worthington

candid

this thing
this laughter
makes me
want to burst

the grin insanity wears
a trap set
meant to
release

they dont
know how close it is
they passed it
it was already there

i could
wrap it for them
but im no saint
i am

a different kind
of eyes
bigger than selves
am the perception

i know what you see
what you understand
but why walk on
when you can swim in

why anything
when anything else

come on now
the more i lay out
the less you
understand

this is for you
i dont have to
anything
just

-fernando

an io of a boy

I've never seen a man such as this
dirty hair, uneven and tangled
Had i known less
i would have thought him a bum

But that expensively ragged jacket
gave him off, This was no runaway.
A private school attendee
cultured in the bel-air mentality

But this one's been abroad,
oh yea, skinny,
this one's been north
he thought he would make it

But he's not all that bad
his grey shoes were once white
and the weight he perceives
is all his own

Then, like judas before his mirror,
he jumps and dodges, vertically slithering
through an obstacle course
that i cannot begin to imagine

his eyes beg to be understood.
the voices he could not silence,
the reason he succumbed to
and the fate he fought

and in his eyes
a plea to an invisible demon.
his neck tightened
as he holds it in

Yes this one does not come often.
Having been stretched for so long
the thinness of his mask
has begun to betray him

a struggling,
barely self sustaining
young atlas, desperately
pushes it all away

-fernando

room and board crisis for a fish

i very much desire to swim in the ocean
or even a pleasant stream or pond
but the food tastes much better here in this bowl
and it is far easier to get water here as well

-andrew worthington