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Not Everything's Supposed to Make You Think


by Darryl Price


 

you are on a missing boat in the middle

Of a fogged out notion of some sort.

A no nonsense paddle could be made out

Of something as intangible as an

Incoming wave. This could also be a

 

Floating thought up map, man. In that sense ghosts  

Are very real I suppose. But I get  

Cranky and tired of hearing how we went

Racing off to the moon and stole some rocks,

But how we couldn't figure out where to

Safely land on the sun's frying face and

 

Steal us some ultimately synergistic

Rays to play Zeus with. We're like ants in

That sense, if it hits the ground,  oh Danny boy, the pipes the pipes, we

Come running with our forks lifting up to   

Our already chewing mouths. No, the thing

About the sun is it's nobody's mere

 

Plaything, but the moon is constantly getting

Felt up by everyone from poets

To politicians. Stars just twinkle dumbly

And wonder why nobody wants to

Build a castle on their undulating

Bellies like that. Ah, romance. It's not dead.

 

All boats end up in the churning graveyard

Of life until someone else has the bright

Idea to go sailing again and

Makes love to the design of that desire

In their head and heart.  Then things change. People

Change. Ghosts come back to life. The moon's cheeks turn red.




Bonus poems:



An Arrow from Another World by Darryl Price

You think our paths crossed all because life is
a random trek across time and space. We
should be so lucky. Do you know someone
who hasn't made a complete fool out of

himself? I don't know what we are doing
here. All the facts don't add up to much, but
I've always been interested in the
funny way your teeth seem to rotate in

your mouth. It makes me smile and feel glad to
be alive. I'm not looking for explanations.
There's no reason I can think of
that's not going to seem like illusions.

But if you were in my shoes, and sometimes 
you are, you wouldn't think it was so bad
to be enamored with the way you walk
across a street. But I've never seen anything

more disturbing. It charms the shit 
out of me. I also don't care. It is
what it is. I accept it. As an arrow
suddenly and always through me. As

a light on the wall that is quickly disappearing 
with my life. I have no choice
but to pay attention to my own demise 
at your adorable hands. You think

these words make no sense. They don't. I wouldn't
pretend otherwise. But they are genuine.
That's all I can give you in this world. 
You are heading away from me at speeds
 
I can only imagine and yet here 
you are in my room, in my head, in my 
words. Again, I can only accept it. 
And I do if it means you exist, at 

least for now. The rest is up to our brains
I guess to figure out how to make it 
more than a waste of time. I take it either
way because I absolutely would rather

know you from afar than not at all. 
That's as true as I can make it. The sun
will shine. To me, you are as essential
to all life as we know it. Thanks for that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bonus: This poem,below, was written for PROTECT, the National Association to Protect Children, but was ultimately rejected for their money raising campaign.

 

 

 

If Only I Were a Kitten

Some famous singer would write a

nifty song on my behalf all 

about my broken face and beg
for a nice new set of whiskers,

some warm bedding. Haven't tasted
any milk in so long I can't

 

even think what it should feel like

going down.Sometimes I dream of

owning my very own water

cooler. I Could fill up everyone's

cups all day long for free and

 

nobody could say a thing to 

stop me. Something I've noticed, no

one ever really wants to talk.

This hurts for a long time after.
They give their coins like I'm going
to reach out and grab them by the


throat and force them to swallow down 
a grubby handful of mutant 

germs. Only want to say,” hello”.

Don't know what else to say, what I'd 

possibly give them in return.

darryl price

 

 

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