Where Did the Time Go: Poems

by Theo Henson — 2022-03-22

Looking for the New Beat Generation

Dialectic electricity sparks a plethora of eccentrics
Planned methodic mysteries frolic in fields preventing Moloch's yield
And ruminate on the empty date of gift-giving to lift yourself from hyperbolic notions of decline.

It's with a depressive optimism that these thoughts are exchanged, rhyme, hanged, and climbed
Up to the pinnacle of divinity go the words of a literary visionary, flexing the interlockedness of her documents
Psychedelia found archived in an almost-non-fiction rose-thorn- and prose-adorned chorus.

For there's a forest for us, the sights of which they're unaware and scared
Of jazz songs and neon thongs the made-up neighborhood of Lower Heights is made
Laden with thrash-can-man ashtrays, stepped on, while dancing a bland can-can in private alleyways.

Making peace with your chagrin, dismal bin-picker-uppers have a good day smiling
The disastrous masterpiece smiths a surrounded island
Astounded, I ask, "will you be with me in Rockland?"


The jet pack slacker
Fills blank jet-black tanks
With jet fuel-cranked tools
He jets across the sky foolishly high
Just nudged my judgment
Not a plane
Not plain

Daydreaming Escapades

The see-how-it-goes Lowe's construction material
always works best for ad hoc ethereal
building projects you think about at morning forgetting to put milk in your breakfast cereal.

While you take up making it a seriously delirious fear electrifies without shaking
and petrifies without breaking
down like a disappointed kid ridden of clown-nose birthday shows.

"Where did the time go" you ask laughing at epitaphs until it's reciprocated
on airplanes flown by when you're having fun too soon and the pilot's hallucinated
another problem to solve until the wings orderly devolve.

"Oh I remember" as you resolve and say
pouring the two percent into the baked corn flakes saving the day
and in a weird way you're glad since Cheerios make cheery not dreary or bad.

Make Cavendish (And Corresponding Diagram)

Flying banana factory in space
Orbiting 'round at its own pace
Churning out yellow fruit stock
Domineering power bloc
Controlling the supply
Fueling fog sky
It hurts

Corresponding Diagram

3-Act Trip

Lazy chair lyrics developed while reclining
Convey mixed spirits about fine dining
Hazy afternoon before night caused frightening
Sunday feet weird and tired get mired running

Trapped, you try to step back to your chair
Suffocated, you fail to inhale the fuming air
Elucidated, you declare dreaming pulling your hair
Finished, you pen the last word returning to your lair

The episode triggered by text haunted
The mind you tried to keep in line with
The focus fried and broken by
The hocus-pocus of itself unshelved

Stealing Guitars

I can't wait for leaves to grow on trees
And for them to die falling off again.
The ground's crush under foot is guiltily great.
I heard smashed plates are loud so stop that sound;
It's interesting artistically but I need pure rhythm now.
Like modal memories who remember in different tones and
Groaned misery happening on dilapidated keys,
The old music pickups pick you up and I say:
"Pick me up; shake me awake,
Then purport haircut but not short.
Where? What? Let's get more."