Hell contradicts itself

I say this because this round is sticky

The persons who end up there

Are punished, for being un-Godly

Hell is where the bad go—the good

Go-Heavenly-bound

But Hell supports a Justice system

Of punishing those who

Do not wickedly turn around

This goes along-width the

God stick

Reactions fall slight

Of an unwarranted predicament

Is not rehab a place to get-saved

To become more than a place of

Enjoyment but a place that

Improves oneself upon staying

A place sustained by one agreement

The agreement to measure up

To love and grace

But damnation from God’s end

Is supported by Hell’s support

Of God’s damnation and

God’s damnation

Wince-forth

Outside of God’s love is Satan

Is this waste?

If Satan conducted this great

Divide of good versus evil then this

Itself be a balance

If Satan conducted this great

Rebellion against God

Why would God then give him

A place to carry-out God’s

Punishment

Why did God choose Satan

To be responsible for punishing

Those sinning against God

Where does grace fit in?

Eternal judgement without rehabilitation

Where is the mercy in all this?

God gives control over to a

Being who failed Him

He damns those to Hell

Who do not support the Holy realm

To out-love someone

What does that mean?

Souls under damnation

Are wasted

God’s waste

God does not annihilate

No bomb but stick

Is this not why balance is

In existence

Balance measures reactions

Supports evolution

Freewill measures choices

The great love of Love’s Intended

I am now suspicious…

The parameters of Hell were set

Before Hell

Existed

Clburdett, 2022

Forcibly down rabbit holes

We do not know who we are until we are free

And until then, we will be out in the sun

Against the shadows of Plato’s light

(for Plato lights his shadows and we do not)

We are not carbon copies

Nor are we infinite in our anxieties over death

We hold the corridors within our bodies

That time does not stretch

We do not go through doors

We walk right into wonderland

No mania or wicked queen will feed our men

No tea party or roses red will lead to madness

Against the mass existence of reproduction

Plato lights Alice like Alice lights men

(yet we are not copies with lights at our backs)

We do not fear the lack of ambition

We are not going somewhere

We are not waiting to be complete

And we speak not to illuminate

Against ourselves we are not one

With ourselves we are dual and ambiguous

I’m not here to stand on your language

Freak it chic, transit, or gather it

I’m looking back at your Gomorrah

If you’re burning to the ground

Maybe your sweet Alice’s tears

Will sooth your fears of woman

Sooth your fears and grow your garden

Like Plato’s light feeding the slaves

Lighting his shadows molding an Eden

Gestating his negatives

Clburdett, 2019

#feminineauthorship

“Surrealism to me is reality.” John Lennon

"A Mad Intercision"

Pulled back by the wind, fog lights jumped over

Knocking pressure below the air plane,

She went off the road ’cause her mind

Let-out-line for a memory, a mad

Intercision, and I remember I

Was the one next to her as the

Hospital bed ran the motorcyclist

From screaming children into

A river where we swam all summer

Ate at the park pepperoni pizza, green chili fruit pies

We flew, thrown high from it, our kites in spring

Sucked hard warm gasses along the jetstream

Conical shells, road piggy back

On joyous ants, split soul per diem

The sky was like glass

And I tugged you mom wake up, the er nurse

Needs you to get her ice Why? She's flying

We laughed ’cause we made one moment right

Before we forgot we were in route

To moralities where everyone stared us right out of class

You took one long, yellow leg with us to snow summit

We chewed into lobster rubber,

I wiped the tomato paste off the molcajete and the

Motorists hung white linen sheets in the wind

As that silly snowman with the middle finger,

Cigarette, and beer can smiled

I thought he needs a winter coat, so he doesn't lose his beer

Or a friend to remember how he was, a

Nice chunk of ice, an intercision

A memory mad for your undivided vision,

Flying glass kites on chain smoke marinara

I walked right off, out of the hospital window

With sangria fireflies

Attached to my arms

Clburdett,  Feb. 2017

Poverty is a symbol

It’s as lost as two faces

Conjoining eyes in a mirror

It’s as nameless as two tracks

Topping off at a crossroad

As cold as massive numbers

Turning odds into zeros

So big it becomes

An unmelodious aviary

A zoo inches deep in dust

A house dry of pulsation

Of migrant thought

What’s left between, in-between

When the ringing has stopped

Poverty is noting more

Than what is general

A stack needing to be reshelved

Into the Dewey decimal system

Cooperative as long as it stays in its place

It’s an ancient, archived tete-a-tete

We ride on past without any empathy

Widely biased if not, unplugged

Despair a greater sin for them

As their cries become shut in a book

And this symbol again

Is unheard

clburdett, 2017

five different versions of

one

same event

how soon in life

the die

is

cast

too young to know

what

she

was doing

beach wood, isn't it?

inscrutable secrets

and lies

mature

original passion

prematurely

inherited

a one

stringed lyre

to a

cup

of hemlock

over-dead, isn't it?

the happiest times

in life were

in

that house

killing myself

as if

they

hadn't died

a murderous tendency

on art

escaped

canvas

don't

expect me

to

confess

He drank what he drew

From metaphor

He went out on a journey

Disrobed a stripe

And the stripe

Was broken

There was not one straight

Line to stand on

So he sprinted up a monolith

Back flipped onto a monomyth

He thought am I trying

To understand

Or am I trying to go around

Or go against it?

He wanted to break

The monomyth

But every time he struck it

The more uncreative and

More un-understandable

It would get

It occurred to him

That he might have missed

By a hare’s breath

It also occurred to him

He was fragmented

His journey became

An un-narrative

clburdett, 2016

My other life called

(said)

Its been a long time

Got my number from a friend

Heard my mom had passed

Sorry but couldn't stay in touch

Moved all the way to haha Alaska

Give me a call back...

They didn't even leave a name?

(thought)

Maybe an old friend remembered me

Broke the code found my number and called

How'd they get my number

Someone wants to get back into my life

I don't know anyone from Alaska

Someone wants to reach me

It hasn't happened before

(but)

Stranger calls have gotten

Me to think of people who are

In my mind and who stay there

People I think about but never call

People I dream about who I don't know

People I make plans for who do not exist

People I love who don't have life numbers, period numbers, era numbers, zip codes, homes...

I know enough though

(that)

Guess who called is like any other stranger

Guess who called is like any other 

Motion in play any other motion on play

(and)

Reached where it was supposed to go

With all my desperate hunger

In search for hard words

Thesaurus swung vigorously

Mightily full

With all my gallant rudimentary loggings

Stalwartly bawling for someone

Who is devil stuck

Idly full

With all my determined foreboding

Hefting armfuls of breadcrumbs

Lustily hammering afoul--A thief! 

Reserving a mean scrabble

My lavender fields darken

As psalms burn from my eyes

She lights the dusk with

Soft preamble violet waves

My heart melts like

The autumnal spill above

The night harvest's her

Dimmed until day's dawn

Anointed by her scenting

mummification

When pruned she's ultraviolet

I was standing in front of a warming pot

Cutting carrots, celery, onions on a red wood round

I was a passenger, somewhere dozing off, between 60

And 5 miles, the time I had walked

Immersing only when liquid cools off

Even before that I was younger, ripe eyes, golden hair

I don't remember but I think I may have been pretty

I feigned I was deaf one time, racing home

I swung wildly an umbrella and chorused a soprano note

So far all veggies are in the correct cooking order

Around that time I feared old milk, moldy bread, dishwater

I never swore, swallowed gum, or faked a smile

I think I was wearing a parrot shirt, red shorts, or some other red jumper

I stopped crossing empty fields, selling candy door to door, riding my bike

After the onions, celery, and carrots were hot

I was deciphering between who-dun-it and urban legends

Then I pressed pause, watching the noodles, again overcook

Looking at how the past and the present borrow from each other

Time moving forward, time lapping

Filling in all the illusional gaps wishing I could be up in the sky

Later that night, I found Floppy bear

Years after what was once a stuffed animal wall

But nowadays I think, how it would be nice, to tip toe back

Just one step, right over the arrow, quiet step back

Tennis players would be across the street, the car

Needing directions would have avoided me

Veggies and noodles

Al dente

Clburdett,  2016