21. I go inside my hollow gun dorm,
See the serfs dancing,
A simply wave is enough of a pleasantry.
I go up to my third floor room,
It smells of ramen and stress.
I pick up the guitar, I stop.
I can’t play because
I know she can’t, she won’t
And she will probably end up in tears.
A hospice bed, vestal to the sound of a piano,
A minor chord of Iron and Wine Is too tragic.
E Aᵇ A E Gᵇ
22. I wish more people loved neutrinos.
Just an apathetic particle, no real attraction to the world,
Just a place holder to make Einstein right. The sun
Pumps out neutrinos for human sustenance, but in that
Infernal engine, protons swim in the storm of electrometric
Waves, no Virgil as a guide, but protons will thank Newton for
Equal and opposite arcs, a path to destruction,
When those two protons collide the closest thing to a miracle occurs,
Two becomes three, from simple protons to quarks energy and a
neutrino,
Shot from the world tangential from its birth.
A lash on the eye of god.
23. Mother Theresa should have done a strip tease to convert the masses.
Her church of suffer might had more devout listeners.
No one heard her sucker punch of condom-less births, but
Every loves a martyr. Property is robbery only for those who steal
From African. Dead Mother
Theresa’s Twitter has more followers than the Pope.
24. You should know Poe’s telltale heart
Still beats to the drum of teen angst.
Galileo’s dilapidated middle finger still hangs in the air,
Mournful raging against the light of the church.
The rotting head of Golding still bears maggots
on its stake,
Warring away the ideals of Communism.
Milton still sees the downfall of man from Adams fire lit eyes.
The dead poets of the world make you glad to be alive.
C’est la vie.
25. How can I be content
When that blue still haunts me.
The faded sky blue spotted with rust,
That marked my femur, my knee.
That folding steel fuselage that marked
One Steven T. Colbert.
That sky that turns that blue every clear afternoon
At 3:14. How can I be content when that blue still exists.
