Math 114

Tarnished Silver


I don’t give a shit

About your xs and ys

When I realize the best

Option are that these pupils

At the center of America’s

Eye of destruction

Watching over the world

Making sure we’re the only tyrant.

The best option being

Unless the all mighty They

Are too dumb to

Understand simple minded


For I fear if not

The world

And colleges everywhere

Will be buried alive

In biochemical warfare

And the largest of all of history’s

Mass grave

Filled with the ashes

Of the black

Latin American




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From Maggot to Fly

Tarnished Silver


The cigarette bud is crushed

Into the creases

Of rotten Would.

I can see my face

Resembled in the ash

And know we are

One and the same.

Though I more closely

Imitate the insect.

Rummaging through cadavers,

Squirming boils burst

at their own


Dug deep into the earth

To taste the red hot

Of my species

Under so much weight,

I begin the great ascent

Knowing it’s likely

I’ll never see

The green surface.

It’d be easier to accept death,

But what’s the point

Of a bug like that.

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Well Disciplined Pigs


we’ll play by their rules,

with frayed remains we’ll recount

lost moments scattering our

coils beneath the landfill


but we revert spoiled Children

with too many playthings


Greedy soil

Beneath the fingertips

Tapping the cutlery


Green deposits of strength

These calcified pockets

Of plaque and ambition


The change in my pocket

Jives to their beet

Cracks along the piggy bank

of my youth



Reprimanded again

For rolling

In the slop

Of their decay


Those long pork tongues forked in those

Less than gentlemanly

Cannibalistic tendencies

Charlotte’s custard

Hardens at room temperature

Inelastic and clouded

A Repetition in Sacrifice



The Sun ‘s low

We charge through the shade

The stalwarts evergreens.


the challenges trivial

Could this be a

Hell so simple





on the way to Salvation

Take a knee, take a ligament

Anything for the firmament


Another form

Another life to char

For the muse


that old lover calls my name.

Lowly paces

Through paradise

The serrated hair of sirens


reinvigorated, risen, from cup to


Through the top

Boiled over

what a luxury,

to make

mistake after Mistake,

Content with

The seared forearm

The grafted skin

Ramen Grind


Į got caught between BPA

coated water bottles

and plastic wrap

tip toed somewhere far

from the glare of the

grocery aisle


Those luscious green peppers

only to blacken as coal


Gangrene is a sapling

rooted in tomorrow’s loss


This meager Survival

is much preferred

to their hasty glory.