"MY NAME IS JESUS TOO" Poems by Jesus Vio


Wood

All the pavement 

And altocumulus 

Get constant kneeling 

Cause no one would believe

The smell of dust on an upper lip

 

Yellow cranes come crashing down

And only I see.

Artist studios catch fire

And I don’t want your breakfast in bed  

In a dream it’s meaningful

But to geometry it’s distant 

 

I am yours society

Please don’t shoot

Leave me alone in solitude

With my invisible face

Everlasting eyes, in meaninglessness

Like hand gestures mid-speech

Doing what’s important

Holding my gullet, smelling the exhale

Asking what side of the license plate do you want to be on?


Summer St

Grey accelerates on the metallic

But only with motors

Like pushing muscle

Tearing through the bookkeepers.

 

Redcoat by a green fuel locale

Flat pole tops are replaceable

Black like purple without a glare 

At close range of the air between dry knuckles

Finding a special feeling for breath

To the jungle beat

Over it

The building of earwax 

And no doors to shut 


Look It Up

Perimeters make zero sense to equations

There is no dust to settle in the air without gravity

So squeamish like a fool

Sonic tires cross blues walls in darkened rooms

 

Nude on a megachurch ship

I try and wave goodbye to my lover

But her attention is on my punk rock jacket 

That I dropped in the water

 

As an alien on tour

They chase me down with sirens

In New England basements and craigslist vans.

I hide from the unspoken academia of brute impulses 

 

I compare that paranoid pharaoh

To narcissistic charity work and celebrity tax cuts

Dealers of scrolling screens

Or drunken shoppers mad at radical football players

 

I am the tiger, I am the ladybug

In a live knife fight 

Slashing only to make black pen marks 

On a plain white cotton t-shirt


Brushing

I got the drive like I got this scar;

Obsession,

For something I saw on the other side

A composition of feelings 

Yearning for conversation

Meaningful notations 

And a kiss before you go

 

I have dreams of ruining my small chance

To wake knowing there isn’t one

So I throw the blanket over my head

And count to 10

 

1 relax- 10 D.N.A

 

Also,

When the outline of the tree line 

Becomes a dissociation  

I can only make illusions of what’s to come

Like playing the long game


Ugly Drawing

I’m making an ugly drawing.

I started at one point and ended my path with distaste 

While regarding all those old masters

Who made works that look so much like my ugly drawing.

I wasn’t thinking

But now at least I feel 

Better and more relaxed 

 

What an ugly piece

A piece of shit!

I love my ugly drawing

Behind the line remains 

Paper as my therapist 

Leaning forward

Like I do when I raise my voice 

 

Lalalalalalalala

The ballpoint pen chirps

As my mind begins to

Recognize the repulsive

Aesthetics of swirly

Wirily dot dot dot 

And the cousin of drippy lines 

Becoming a part of my shelf life

 

I’ma makin an ugly drawing. 


No Name

Powerful and confident 

But not like Americans 

Like percussions… 

Like orgasms!

Like truths?

Blamed for bitterness =

Sour patch kids vs. gummy bears

 

Lonely I examine my condition at work.

I know I’m owed more

Just like in China,

Making hats that look good.

Like "me"  

Without a metronome

But with the pulse of your lungs

Te quitaste la mascara 

 

Moving into my adventures

I pull back ____

From the conditions 

To prove your assumption

I refuse

I believe there is a set of conditions true to me


Destination

It can be learned 

To compose

Fog over flat plains

Or grounds of walnuts

Near vitamin C

 

Learned for matters that nurture 

The smooth white eggshell

Over my softer brain

Is thinking In pink

Caring deeply for solutions

 

My thoughts reserved 

For who can handle that morning yolk,

Adored

Complimented 

And by your side

 

We now stand behind 

Homo-sapiens mutilation 

In the raw

Composed and ready 

To love


Due to High Volume Calls

What your fish needs

Vs a box of surprises

 

Even efficient and moist calendars

Force you to build a fire.

Hammers don’t melt the snow faster

 

Notice through thoughts of thicket

Of brown vines and silver linings

With leafs tickling caught skin

Where the fruit hit the ground;

The baby and the vanishing point

 

Petting galaxies while eating light

I’m ignoring the sky

And read of heaven and hell

While my arm is a fin

 

Saliva blood and acids

Make up the most important brew

It’s salty and orange

And on a boring to read menu


Nickname O.K. 

I want you

Like a bear feels in the wilderness, 

I want to be with you

 

When I say I want to make you mine 

You’ll know what I mean 

If you’ll have my arms and legs around you

Like 0 o and circles 

 

I love you

Like shadows during full moons

 

I remember being scared at 11 years old in rural darkness 

And now I'm 28 and looking into your eyes

 

I miss you

To remind you of your greatness 

In feeling impulsive for the sovereignty in your serenity 


Light Mark

Patient at 90 degrees

Waiting for an alarm

Glancing at a dark cracked screen

 

I have a headache… 

From having to feel good

There is only so much trickery to stimuli… 

 

The musical choices I’ve made

Depended on my subversion

(I’m not that naive anymore)

 

Self-destruction is evident in my indifference

Waiting to escape to Massachusetts

So that I can converse 

 

I can’t seem to untangle my preoccupation 

For understanding 

The rude and reckless 


Confusion

Standing in place

Powerful like my ancestors 

With their shit between my toes.

I am your wall

Like my mate in green

And a fleshy question without asking. 

They see my groove, to use my figure

I am your truck and in peripheral  

 

A queen wedded to a hated king asked me;

“Will you be the target to my bow and arrow

My gentleman

With curly pubes

And attractive deodorant 

A sweet alcohol 

Seeping in habit”? 

 

I want wealth and family

I want love for partners

Not runways of colossal length

Made of broken jawbones.

Because when the king steps 

You kick me

And I cry!

But like my ancestors 

I stand strong

With shit between my toes


Fish Please

Inspired by Star Trek fans using cell phones

I put my car on cruise control

And played no cop no stop

So as to see into the future.

I was arrested in my carnal joke

 

In a vision,

A patron walks in

To buy a door for dinari 

The door merchant said

"Dry or wet”?

Wet for a fresh start

Like a womyn send by god

To forgive us for all our sins in 2017

For we are hypocrites on a plane 

 

We help each other out on television 

Happy and sturdy folk

Resonating in coffee and gasoline 

Paying

Owning

For vulgarity 

And

Bullies that make us laugh


The Blister On My Middle Finger

The hazard of a linear basis

Is its subscription to table saws

Grinding in daydreams

 

Caught in my search for protein,

Sands possible outcome

Was the conversation at the vegetable aisle. 

And now behold

Sounds of cracking and buzzing ^#*”+<**

 

It made sky blue sense

Like the most beautiful shorts,

You looked so dang cool,

Before I filled my gas tank

Towards new beginnings 


Survival Place

Drenched wool

Sighs heavily

By the shock of a passerby 

Speaking through the most modern wires

 

Who knows how much sugar water will spill

Over the adventurer’s journal 

Where classics are made

By four points near a closed circle

?

 

Count the murals that have had enough paint

An amount of conceptual taste

To make a bird eyeball tense

And a lioness’s important teeth fail 

 

I anticipated the dull tastes behind my cheekbones

By remembering how uncanny it feels to look up at the ceilings of clubs 


Negative Ceramic

Nature is watching you

Like a 20 minute leaf.

From the dome to the spike

Shooting visions inward

The elastic bands are snapping all night

While open red paint goes unspilled

 

Now breaking the tension -/-

4 circles together carry a proud about anger honker

(Slowing down accepting stillness)

… No, it’s not a disaster 

Just two tectonic plates in hormonal solitude 

 

It’s too dry and instilled in fear,

The need to disconnect.

Asking for a cucumber shape

Suggesting that pigment and milk can become cost-effective

Miss matching the burners 

And staying away from roses 

 

 


Mystic Twee

Mighty warrior 

On a maple leaf

Riding the will of infestation 

Not ignorant,

But like fingertips bound to the knots of blindfolds

 

With a rational imagination 

They salt unexplainable cuts

Drinking water and smoking marijuana; 

Every breath is the crashing of waterfalls

 

Seeing it mirrored in vibrations

Deep

“I won’t self-destruct I won’t be punished”! 

Demanding to find that something a 100-year-old loves

 

For those who held an open mind during the dark ages

I know you existed.

You are the transcendence of beauty emanating from my grip

The rock of the wisest 

And the foundation of my thrust 

 


Moonstone Sperm 

Silent amongst digital angst,

I realize a mysterious gore

On the drywall dust on my index fingernail

In conjunction with the memory of the rail that cut across my left rib cage

 

My laptop is my wife lying next to me.

In severance, I watch her never get any sleep

Because of the waves of frost garnished over her body heat

From the fall weather

The flannel blanket

And my fast and cheap fan

 

Running away is all the same

Becoming tables for the private conversation of boring and powerful satisfaction. 

The tacky, trust-funded, fragile, inverted snobbery of their arts-n-crafts

Have me staring at darkness like neon lights…

 

I don’t want to sit on their glaze for lease

Where polished sterling butter knives meet ice

Stems of purple mint are plumbed into the lube

And empty mills are looted for credit 

 

The powerful are jealous of the stray wolf;

The defense of pearly familial fangs.

At home for you my wild one, my work tie is a sexual leash

Watched over by the same golden breath

That shined the ant’s mandibles and abdomens before nuptial flight

 


Chaos Outfit

The world took a turn once the mosquito pulled out of my forehead,

An itch so near the esteem

Of the marvel of mothers in their favorite outfits

Making forests bend, leafs rapture and the sky get shivers down its spine

There are ancient body parts

Fighting hungry ear-splitting demons

On buoyant shapes mid invisibility

Staging the climax in the angular void

Jealous and in the desert

Taking care of others

Sanding the mirror back to its origins

He releases the ancestral fish from the hoop

Coming out peacefully and present

Then destroyed by what they can’t have;

That strength to bite a whole garlic clove

Or being a civilian

Putting their fingertips together to shape the head of ensuing infants


Algal Bloom

Why have extra sour cream

Or the most special thing on the menu?

I have seen this before like retail

Baskets in yellow oilcloth fruit

Fruit not so distant from sports:

outlines for far stretched grins

Special, all kinds of letters

Bold black with a tempting neon green dot

Making plans in resonating birch

Where Gods Bless Music

The color explosion upheld all symbols to purity

Accepted, Now

Eyeballs dance in different habitual patterns across the globe

For what one can endure at best


The Hoarder

There once was a hoarder

Who thought it all was theirs

And who loved it all.

Dragging the hoard closer to itself

The clothes, the hair, the trash, the brick

The hoarder’s heart couldn’t allow this of one anymore

And everybody distributed the hoard equally.