Everything and Other Poems
By Ben Green


These days the phones bleed thick fog and bad news, so let’s walk the ghost town in ground pulling boots painted with gore of the dead minds all around inside the glass city- hungry for weakness. Offer noise for the global eroticism (though dying), that which; causes soul dust to drift and divide, cosmic tidal waves of content, star-blanket volcanoes, scarlet crystalline tears, of the future colored kisses from all next year’s tomorrows. Did you know we can release the warm morning sun that slips between all senses with an invigorated thought? We can give birth to all mystical change, Blessed are we who burst into stars.

NUGMRAWASISSENIPPAH
Dance on placid pavement and reject sensibility, breathe in the cement and cough out seduction of ore of metals of dust. Lost again in another cold cold frigid war like money in the carnivals eye. Boney commitment to the a siren of the present.

NUGMRAWASISSENIPPAH

not without grief o’er home or wife an child
oh! pious chief, look who’s roamin the wild?!
with a leather briefcase full of fancy files
he paced and trotted another spiraled mile
with his spine taped straight and his thoughts in a pile
and his denial of being defiled by the smiles of a haughty harlot
putting these thoughts to the back of his mind with a cigar lit
he begged but not those who knew not to trust
he feels the pull of a sorrowed young Werther, but do not, ALL lust and lose?
he addresses the foul while his legs begin to rust
and he states that he’s loathed this fate
he longs for fairy tale faces of the familiar places
though as you know he's full of lies and whys
and weary sighs, he’s a menial Machiavellian under the celestial skies
but in his eyes vapors rise over nostalgic thoughts
of his wife , divine
NUGMRAWASISSENIPPAH

Wading through the awkward silence, to the back left corner where no one looks first. The cold war methamphetamine blues coughing out intimate cycles. Intertwining Dionysian seeds and Apollonian weeds. Lopsided librarians underfoot, buried with words and soot. Half-haired mongrel’s pillaging the party. Closet clean, no more skin-flaked dreams, dancing filth; so obscene.
NUGMRAWASISSENIPPAH

An emblazoned French skinny cries
For a lover, sick, sick from silky smoke ring exhibitions of the fanciest worlds overflow
Mouth expands to engulf
A sort of digital devouring a lightning strike sensation ringing through.
Uninstalling echoes of her latest gentle infidelity as comfort permeates out of every
Flower pour bone magnet pillow they both retire to
pale under a sorrowful vanilla, that which when the dying angel bathes in
Becomes illuminated.
NUGMRAWASISSENIPPAH

Stomach the ribbon worm swarms dispersed throughout,
The symbiotic relationship investing in legitimacy helps only the needed.
NUGMRAWASISSENIPPAH
Spark-metal dancing to set the two lovers vice aflame
Kissing between united dreams over buckets of anxiety
An eastern aphrodisiac promises to honor the shaman’s flaccid veins
Raining the voiced minds silenced by chains
Who shamed infidels with clothes water stained
Venus fishing for soul finds only a tattered romance
Near lilac hills under Diana’s lunar reign
Striking main visions cry over the earth impregnated
voicing shame

Passion lacking nymphs expressing tidal waves of cryptic foresight over an intimate apocalypse
Ghostly beggars colored with soot sneers while watching loveless humans profess hysteria
Stationary nude twins apparently phantom inspired and lewd
Condemning feeders of heart ego fanaticism
Impotent men zombie through high school’s hypnotics
Fancy morphing apparitions floating about on the cities sparkled winds of pink and musty red
NUGMRAWASISSENIPPAH

Incubi manifest fluttering wings on the backs of monks and virgin teens
Only Filtered truths sing for those too gentle; naiveté’s gift
Godliness and calm waves from nimble spirits bouncing throughout the sky.
NUGMRAWASISSENIPPAH

Everything came from nothing came from everything came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing came from nothing.


©2009 by Ben Green


Critiques, Insults, and praises... are all welcome.

Emmm hello

one color one font plz

formatting too bad didnt read

not bad, could use more, sorry, cliche. Theres nothing wrong with a little cliche every now and again.

cli⋅ché   [klee-shey, kli-]
–noun
1. a trite, stereotyped expression; a sentence or phrase, usually expressing a popular or common thought or idea, that has lost originality, ingenuity, and impact by long overuse.
2. (in art, literature, drama, etc.) a trite or hackneyed plot, character development, use of color, musical expression, etc.
3. anything that has become trite or commonplace through overuse.


Anything cliché can stay in your poetry and out of mine.

My name is cal,
i have a pal,
his name is ben,
Benjamin green,
hes a race car driver,
smokes so much kill he has no more saliva,
he wakes me up early and says
cal smoke a bowl,
making french toast by day
dropping acid by night,
living withing with my bestfrand really tight

thats my poem >:D

i hate you

You're a moron. But I like you.

I have to say... there's hardly any structure. While some of them may have inner value for you, it simply isn't all that appealing to me.

thats some advice i can dig, though structure is a prison for poetry.