Gord

2014-05-15 12:00 am

So low, I write solos. solo.
No hope, no dope, no jenkem,
To inhale into my lungs alone.
No friends to inhale with.
My redemption will be none.
Album sales will resemble past figures.
One.

Gord

2014-05-14 12:00 am

I no longer scribble rhymes,
Rather my squiggles deny harim.
I charm snakes to pilot pilots.
Writing to merely appease the miser:
Metaphor of all those wiser than him.

Gord

2014-05-14 12:00 am

A man comes to understand,
Only as is printed.
Lifted from the past,
The word casts its witness.
Powering part of a pattern,
The flower grows mathematically.

Gord

2014-04-18 12:00 am

A hundred and ten, live.
Sundries of men, dead.
Sun dried in a tent,
Limbs sundered and spent.
A disunion to the dissection.
A preparation for misunderstanding.
A sun song sung, 
So sundrily that the people run,
From open pasture to the sunken,
Then a tsunami wave blocks the son.
From the pasture the bell is wrung.
Sons of god in hell, soaked asunder.

Gord

2014-04-18 12:00 am

Implying I stuff my bra like Maria.
Tiny tits propped to seem like Serena.

Gord

2014-04-16 12:00 am

Felonious,
Like I flew through the disc.
Understood every metaphor,
In every one of his hits.
Like I stood to an applause.
Uproarious.

Gord

2014-04-15 12:00 am

My new world is atwixt.
Filled with candy and chocolate.
With a wafer so crisp.

Gord

2014-04-11 12:00 am

I log in online,
Most likely I'm confined,
   or retarded.
Online I can be anything I wanted.
Like I can be a dog,
and eat a dog's food,
I'm the average aspoet user.

I Have a sexual fetish,
With no sexual elements.
Eat clementine oranges,
Receive my erections,
Pointed in your direction.

Un-anointed poets are bereft.
The bottom of the page is best.
They re-post the date and the city.
Supplement updates how their feeling,
While they manage to omit their audacity.
Masterfully crafting their art: Re-posting.

Gord

2014-04-09 12:00 am

A moonlit night,
The perfect time,
To play my guitar,
While my mirror shines.
Wholesomely,
I build my melody,
I win my fight.
A shooting star!
I play for her heart,
Still I find no departure,
I still long for my woman.
To die beside her.

Gord

2014-04-09 12:00 am

No head of lettuce larger,
Plus no trade embargo.
No policia to stop us, bro.

Gord

2014-04-04 12:00 am

Wait Waist!
Stay in Place!
I should've eaten more at subway.
I aimed at abstaining, dammit.

Gord

2014-04-03 12:00 am

I find fault at the way we speak.
Common practice happens to be harmful.
Why not cause change?
Because It's not change you seek.
You seek far less than mediocrity;
Practice harder and ply a trade,
Realize what it is to carry an armful;
I find fault at the way kids speak;
The common practices, owning Iphones.
Of their needing to cause change.
Of standing and telling me I'm the cynic.
Standing with less skill than Dionysus;
The propaganda industry only has 50 years;
No readable peer review, judges or pundits.
Industry fooling people into contributions.
No revolution, strictly opaque movement.
True knowledge occult only by emotion elicited.
We just don't need a German Nazi Party revisit.

Gord

2014-04-03 12:00 am

I have Rob Ford exposure;
I have Rob Ford composure;
I write mockeries in prose,
Which are meant to be poetically modest.
But I end up stuffing them in mailboxes,
Lighting them afire in a drunken stupor.

Gord

2014-03-27 12:00 am

Sandwiches,
I lack the dishes to cook, so,
Bun, Mustard, Mayo,
Ham, Cheese, Bun, on a plate.
Here what I'm saying?

Gord

2014-03-27 12:00 am

I ate a bunch of bananas,
Then these cops rolled up, 
I swallowed a fuckton of cannabis,
Rode off on my bike and threw up.
Nobody can catch me; I'm too smart.
Puke nugs in a bags stroll off...
Into the dark; Start running quick.
Realize I've forgotten the bike:
What a dilemma I've caused.
Especially now I'm hungry as fuck,
I have another bunch of bananas at home, but,
Is the bike worth my time?
Or is it quicker to run?

Gord

2014-03-26 12:00 am

Wagonwheels, they do appeal,
My stomach reveals lessons.
Six is my limit.
I should not eat a seventh.

Gord

2014-03-25 12:00 am

I don't care anymore;
If my wife carried a baby,
It would be a whore,
Pushing a whore out of her,
I'm an amateur poet.

Gord

2014-03-24 12:00 am

Another lover, to cuddle up with,
that doesn't mind the pickle breath.
Another 8 days of love,
Before asparagus piss ruins a date,
Before I eat a whole lemon cake,
And a bag of Doritos,
Or was it Frito Lay?