I am power chords in my beard… 40 lines about something… 10 lines about nothing… permission to go through your trash…
I am the concept of free will… blue dinosaurs think I smell nice… having a face is self-indulgent… new psychiatric medicine that treats inability to find a suitable job… you take it and then just die…
I am a ghost in my mind… a legend in time… a zombie franchise… a rind…
I am the imaginary digital utopia I’ve been waiting for… an Indian burial ground… alone in a crowded life…
I am touching you with rabies right now… running away from you down a hallway… tenderly dusting your lips with atom bombs… holding your face and screaming tomorrow’s winning lottery number’s in a tunnel of falling children…
I am dying to death with happiness… an alien sunbeam… an unwanted guest…
I am my own monastery… what’s left of me… I am what’s left when nothing’s left… I am my own diaspora… Blessed the way I am best… If you like my poem then put a ring on my poem…
I am a voice in the air… anonymous folk proverbs… an ancient space epic… I hereby abolish money… Go buy my book… Go to sleep…
I am better at being depressed than you… most of the way through the first part of the internet… sentient spambots… planets… a death howl… a desperate gambit…
I want to collaborate with Kanye West writing a tweet that says, “got books?”… I want to collaborate with the universe on an autobiographical tweet that says, “Be nice to rocks and spaceships”… I want to learn how to speak in an “inside voice” just like a real human man…
Blessed is the unmedicated, for he shall sometimes forget his phone charger, and become less distracted by the internet.
Blessed is the oppressed, for hers is the broken kingdom. Blessed is the low and broken crown.
Blessed am I in my loneliness. Blessed the way I am best.
I am a song of tears in my teeth… a low ghost… teeth… the ghosts in machines… machines… the system… I am the tiny governments in the water… a woodsman… a baby with sharp fingers… calculus eyelids… pink algebra teeth… I have been space rioting by means of weird angels for the last 4000 years… I think I need some sleep…
I am a birthday cake… sad birthday cake… bright birthday cake of kindness… I think I might be a lobster… a birthday crime… I rhyme…
I am my own true mother and father… a vow of silence… the Golden Girls…
I am blind… deaf… mute… dumb… my own rough dwindling whisper… I bite into a York Peppermint Patty… I transform myself into an immaterial cyborg angel of space… I am the Golden Girls again… free will made me do it this time…
I am a shy misanthrope who likes attention… asks google “do I really exist?”… a son of man… a son of ghosts… a piece of cake… a piece of toast… I am “the rules”… the propaganda factory… obscene… I am free speech I paid for… a reality show called “Reading a Book with Lee”…
I am a victimless crime… a violent crime… a white-collar crime… a dinosaur crime… I am a dinosaur in my soul, O mother… best as a dinosaur by myself…
I am the best there’s ever been… I am the worst… but mostly unremarkable… apart from being the best and worst…
I am a flying baby—that’s called a syllogism… My heart clangs out burnt syllables… lavender anatomies of tender substance… statues composed of fossils… a spirit and a bone…
I am unpeopled… low… impermanent… mean… furtive ruins of metropolis… a dead blunt thing… I raise my face… I bludgeon lovingly the gravel…
I am a panic-webbed attic of ribs… I deny my name three times… I am a hocus pocus bric-a-brac of tiny brontosauruses… I am hitting your face right now… put my head through a cliff because of special effects… I am the last one left…
Why bother… Be crimes again…
Be passersby again… Be bright…
Be implacable… broken-unbroken… a residue… a rind…
Be “the cool kids”… “the doomed kids”… I am pinching your face from far away… How can you doubt that you are immortal?...
Be answering machines… Be flutterbys…
Jesus laughed… Jesus leapt… “There’s something special about you,” says the internet… I am imagining someone reading my poem and becoming erotically attracted to me because of “unique inner specialness”… I am writing that… “I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you,” says the internet…
I am earning a lot of money from this poem right now… this joke right now… this tweet right now… this thought… this kindness… bear hugs… scowling… I wrote this poem using only thoughts and a vague mental sense of “outpatient thinking therapy”…
“Reality literature”… just reading stuff… I am “going bump in the night” right now… “fitting the bill” right now… asking a question: Am I a baby?… why bother again… I am earning a lot of money from this TYPING! TYPING! TYPING!…
I feel a strong sense of nostalgia about the nostalgia I felt last night.
I am the police… I invent new forms of social protest by reverse-disturbing the peace…
I am the Bananapocalypse (n.): destruction of the material cosmos by means of banana (yes, I did just add that to my spell-checker)…
I am the Banalaclypse (n.): like an apocalypse, but lamer…
I am a mandala with sad Eeyores… with baby shapes and informative labels… with Erdogan and Eeyore jello wrestling for erotic gratification of primary colors…
I am a mandala with smaller mandalas spiraling counter-clockwise in order to go backwards in time to a time when they were happy… a mandala with sad babies learning happiness through the power of personal finance… then a large red X slashing through, caption: “Show me the money!”…
I am a school of philosophers who argue the internet is made of tiny spirit machines… of mystics who claim knowledge of a Jelly Belly flavor that passes through all other flavors…
I am making a lot of money from this Jedi mind trick right… I am a baby with evil sleigh driver… “Editing and driving”… “Dead language learning and driving”… I know there’s a sad eccentric genius out there just waiting to be my best friend…
I am earning a lot of money from being unmedicated right now… a bestselling series of drug ads… hypnotic/soothing background voice: some risk of [dark beings from Inter-Dimension colonizing your discarded body] dry mouth, nausea…
I am a quantum hairdo… Tuesday is alligator… brunch…
I teach compassion for all things, even rocks and spaceships… but not so much for gmail… gmail deleted my email… gmail will know my wrath… blue comets rain down from the sky… molten dinosaurs in its mouth… now gmail is dead… u r dead now gmail… stay that way… or else…
I am a cockroach waking up to find I’ve become Kafka while I slept…
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