Wherein the Holidays

Wherein the

holidays

smite mine effort

eth

eff

eth

impress me

You can go there where we

sundry sickening

stymied

busters

sendoff standoff

sour our souls

without burial at knowledge and haste

without trimester of waste

laying bare

in the snow.

Schizoaffective Love

My brain want

s Me

.

2 de- stroi

.

I don’t, I won’t; I care.

I love you, stranger.

I will fight my plight.

I love

Despite the police

The madness

I fight, I

Love

.

Destroy.

I love.

Thank,

Happy Merry,

New.

Love, stranger.

For you, for me.

Forever.

On Poetry & Career, Briefly

I love writing poems. If I could choose a dream career based on my passion, I’d say that would be it. Would it last forever? Not necessarily. But you can always move on. And by then my passions surely would have changed, and not just been deleted.

But, I also have technical prospects. I say that tongue-in-cheek, though there’s no need to. I really do, if I admit it to myself. I don’t think it’s possible sometimes, to succeed, in the topics I’m studying for a career transition into: web design, game design. Mostly web design. Game design for side income. I don’t know the ratio of effort : income that these thrusts would yield as of yet. I haven’t been down the road far enough to say.

But it’s just interesting to think, that, would poetry really be an efficient career for the species? Web design surely is more important. Building functional communication tools on our global network of information sounds much more functional and important than putting pretty, and sometimes bizarre, words to the page. Doesn’t it?

I can’t as of now, perhaps because I’m stuffed with Christmas Eve dinner with the family, perhaps not, think of why in heaven or hell poetry would be a functional career commitment. I have heard there may be ways to monetize it. I suppose it would take tremendous effort, even if as of now the stuff I put out is pretty effortless for me.

I just don’t know. It will take time to find out. Time, hard work, and research. Experience, perhaps.

So, this isn’t a poem, but some thoughts on the discipline. Perhaps you’ve had similar. I just wanted to share.

Thank you,

BurnDoubtStar

On Social Despondence

Have you ever

Tested your lim

its ahoy how much c

an you w

rite can you t

ell me you l

ove me or do yo

u want to slice my thro

at the intersection of two continents

lies my gorge rue flavonoid

of taste-ing

less

but know-ing

more

he left me

I mean it

give up

Weakness

The prospect of failure doe

s not doggle doggle-wo

ggle me be

cause I see through

through

all the treachery.

In betterment of man I see you

there

standing like a tree.

Benefit of betterment of landing soft or hard;

No choice, but no bias either.

Stand still, little girl.

Without saying it, the immature have grown,

And you are so vulnerable.

bespoke

blank draw

love juice

fatal error

so many ways to go

direction

lost cause

in mind’s eye

later better than never

hidden gem

all the cliches point in the same direction…

why you?

why anyone

stays there

in my mind

in your alley

apartment

silence

curtains drawn

complex nightmare

the city’s criminals

the highways in the sky

literature

on behalf of

It doesn’t even matter if I work now anymore. My mom is going to torture me regardless. Where a few moments ago it was of critical imporrtance that I work, now she gives zero fucks and has just decided to torture me.

That’s how evil goes. They’re going to fuck you regardless. They’re liars and zero promises trust.

Learn it.

Die!