GUEST POST, FOUR RONPOPS BY RON HECKERT

'I was like...are you sure you're calling the right guy?'

1. Oblivion United

I guess 50 means you're a man somehow

As Grown up as you'll get
Or whatever

Opinions
Onions

Oblivion Unlimited

Witness it
Break down

But it was never fixed
Was it?

2. Good Luck

What you get 

Is a return on what you have invested in

Results will vary

Skill and luck play a part

Hope for good luck

Good luck

'I did not attend several prestigious universities.'

3. Shit Mirrors

I am a conscious manifestation of elements

recycled from the beginning of time

A time that only a god could remember

And then there was light

And me!
Indeed.
We were all there,
apparently still sleeping.

And now we get

To Witness our universe

Through a temporary mirror

A soup of organics

A miracle of chemistry

Reflecting wonderment

Whilst shitting all over it

For This is the way

Our Shit mirrors work

We are shitty little mirrors

Reflecting who we are

Cheap goods perhaps

To the cosmos

Our cousins

indifferent gods

And others

I was going somewhere with this

But whatever

Our souls

Warped

Made cheap and quick

Mass produced

Efficiently

Flawed

Because perfection takes focus

And the universe is big

Isn't it?

4. Good Day

The computer said to me 

It is hard

To write music

When I cannot feel or see

And yet I write on anyway
Blinded though knowing

About more absurd probabilities
Bending the numbers and notes of a frequency

Caused disturbances
Sensed
Felt

To detect is to attempt to understand 

She said good day after that

'There were trees, lots of trees.'

SUPERMARKET CAFE POPS

1.

  the 
  old stone church tower 
  up on the marsh hill
is
always
aroused 

  pushing its godhead
up
over
the
shopping cement sprawl 

  that
diminishes
its symbol
  but never its 
  hard
  architecture


2.

  never looking up
are
the
mice men 
rat boys
and eyebrow girls

  busy
  with
  plastic
  and fries

  never looking up 


3.

under 
steel and glass
i sip my coffee
and
i count my pains
  in
  the
  indoor muted hubbub
  the
human highway has become


3.

in a fuckchain foodhouse 
i
eat a sandwich / tastes of packing foam
and
write
some more tesco-ftown-meh-drek
thats
like
sitting doing awkward shitting 

  laying behind me
  a 
  dump 
  that still itches deep
  when 
  i am
  done

 from photolibra.com