Shawn Misener, 04/12

The Suicidal Seer

The suicidal seer says he wasn’t given the choice whether or not to be born
and this violates everything he has ever held true about freedom

he finds himself with a beautiful wife and three chubby glowing boys
who never sleep, never stop talking, never stop dictating his location

the city pulses around him like a wet cocoon thousands of layers deep
birthing wayward people,
human beings who think they know what they are doing
but they clearly have no idea what the hell is going on:
why they are alive, why they have jobs and families,
they are ignorant while the suicidal seer is just confused

his veins swell, an anxious, pulsating soft helmet
slowly squeezing him to a merciful death
and an easy answer to all his useless questions

 

Wiggle Room
I’m not mastering anything
or pretending that I haven’t mastered everything

in this wiggly space
opinions are as real and disposable as skin

music appears and vanishes
after spinning the loop into your ear
and laying an egg on your brain

growing ghost guitars in your garden
your feet may follow

 

Promote. Poetry.
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