Submitted by joshua mertz on May 4, 2015
Where is it mandated
That I must be amazing?
I have always settled
For pretty good
Not being good enough for excellence
But settling
Like silt in water
Dust in air
For pretty good
Why am I still hungry?
Submitted by joshua mertz on April 28, 2015
This means that
And that means this
And those other things
Mean something else entirely
And they beat against each other
Ripples in a still pond
The thing and its metaphor
The sea is the mind
The mind is the stream
And the water swirls in random patterns
Thought incarnate
The words swim, drenched in meaning
And metaphor is the path
Rain on stone
Submitted by joshua mertz on April 28, 2015
Tai Chi in snowshoes
Comes on when
My flaming arrows do not fire
When too many ball bearings
Escape from my skateboard
When my fragile flower
Storms delicately through
The thoughtless concrete
To find itself in a pile of dog shit
In these bleak moments
Underscored with the thin grey laughter
Of the cosmically humorous
I feel a need to collapse
And simultaneously feel
That all movement has intonations of order
So this flamed out, wobbly flower
Becomes Tai Chi in snowshoes
And I move into the ordered movements
As if for the first time
Tai Chi in snowshoes
There is no snow
There are no snowshoes
There is not even any winter
There is only Tai Chi
Submitted by joshua mertz on April 28, 2015
He reads very well
And is not afraid of the camera
His scripts are real interesting
(I wonder who writes them)
He ad-libs a lot
But always comes back to the copy
So we can start up again
Letting the words roll by
We were on the set
For sixteen hours
And the time seemed like nothing
The smiling man departed
We wrapped our cables
And slipped into the
Night, gentle night
A dark flower
Unfolding
Submitted by joshua mertz on April 28, 2015
There's certainly something
About the way
your skin
Lays over your bones
Across your shoulders
Around your hips
All down to your toes
Like summer glistening
Till it slides into a glow
I've buried myself
Beneath it, soiled
Ready to grow
Selfish pleasure spread
Across myself and into my pores
I long to be alive
In dreams of your future heart
An illicit vision, recycling itself
In my mind
Your heavy cream blanket
Woven tight with my own
I inhale it like blossoms
Minus thorns it unfolds
This, here, is the textured fabric
Of my smiles
This, here, is the fragrance
Of my love.
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