It wasn’t what I intended to write, but it was time.
Mighty Socket
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
If you long to song don’t beat about it,
pick up a stick to believe in limewire.
Mighty socket, the ground beneath our
feet, and it gives us stuff to eat. Flick a
match to the wind, watch it catch and
burn, feel your blood boil, heart of
cosmic drum, around the flame sits
a prism of translucent hue, as a bird
carries a song you carry the clue.
That smudge on my desk looks like a long neck dinosaur,
always the best thing to happen, if it were up to me I’d live
off your kisses alone, if I look left a rubber ducky sails on,
lost in the magic at hand, Smash Bros boss battle, quotient
A helpless passenger of pen, a journal original,
Pastiche a la mode
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
That smudge on my desk looks like a long neck dinosaur,
always the best thing to happen, if it were up to me I’d live
off your kisses alone, if I look left a rubber ducky sails on,
lost in the magic at hand, Smash Bros boss battle, quotient
time was off, pinned to the ass in Martha Stwerts’s jail cell,
a frisbee golf eagle chimes, Hitler also grew a mustache on
his back called the Rhineland, Global Warming Foo Fighters
of the Grateful Dead it says on a scrumpled note neglected next
to a trash can, turns it over, Bob Dylan was an alien? That baby
that ruined your anniversary dinner is still crying, frigid fidgets
plum to the frosty pear, approval in the eyes, and you still made
it to work on time? the taste of honey, that dog expects the toy
to be thrown, tried using the urinal at Walmart, but Kamala Harris
was looking me in the eyes, an exceeding first bite, glad we met,
when a couple is just having a moment, and then there was light,
like we didn’t know the darkness before.
Enjoy,
When the Music was Made
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
All is still before you, it never went away,
funny to see how it all occurs today. For to
know one’s self it helps to have eyes, waiting
for the right pair to point at the beginning of
time so this universe could turn in for the night.
It just came together, then it fell apart,
we laughed all the same like we knew
from the start. All points unwrapping
a never ending present, what’s the fuss
you know “it loved to happen.” Spelling
without backspace information piles on
full tray rounding peer, sideways it’ll go.
That old be careful you might get what you ask for sorta thing. Much Love,
Draft Vector
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
Supreme ruling over mile high state,
with arms crossed and backs firm it’s
made clear all seats are taken here, the
door that turned you away will hit you
on the way out. A fist thrown into a
revolving door, glass shatters, gloves
that were never on come off, chaos infects
gaining gravity pulling those who at
first never gave it any thought, are seen
decapitating neighbors with stop signs.
It’s all gotten a bit out of hand, calibrated
subconscious, stories decades old told from
fading ink, the smoke of progress lingers
on the frontier of a new civil war, if we
choose to fight it.
Many ways to slice it,
Big Jar Dreamer
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
The big Jar was a dreamer he said without a doubt,
unmatched in all but thinking he was somewhere else.
Then it got the best of him one day the other week,
those around couldn’t pretend to know what went down.
Sprouting lilies as he was a nickel for a share of the dare,
laughing all the same when the sheriff showed his badge,
he made spaghetti out of town and never looked back, still
no word was spoken about whose wifes he’d been poken.
As luck would have it they serve him up a spike, soon it
was turn in or take a hike. How they tell it now when Jar
refused to come clean is with a wish to have intervened,
because what happened next was something no one had ever
seen. Loaded diamonds for eyes the dreamer gazed thunder,
with a flick of the wrist their badges were stripped under,
to where geese critique wakes and wax bellies with jellies,
found on discrete display with berry unknown origins, their
hands pat the fabric they hadn’t seen since service was sworn,
stripped of sacred identities they dissolved to the realm of
forgotten memes to hang around and reminisce about
bygone relevance. A chariot pulls up Jar staggers in, sirens
give way to night, no phone home in a red and blue snare,
the window reflects the cold steel around his wrist though
he knows nothing of it, to Jar they are soft, pink, fluffy, and
full of excitement, like what’s in your head, merrily merrily
merrily…
Title reference in Paul Murray’s not a lecture in my substack.
Mollusk Longings
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
How wants are a certain want, unexplained
from a heart full of roman candles, that fly
to what it desires most egging you to follow
their light. The same light seen by nuns who run
away with visiting recruits from barracks in far
away places, and not a hint of hesitation in her
step as she boards the plane because they know
it to be true. Yes, how true, if it’d only take hold now,
rush us away to the night that would last forever,
chew the fat, toasts the stars, for whatever reason
right now life makes sense, because it was all there
contained in the night, giggling alongside us till
separation ceased and you realize you are the one
there is no spoon, the blunt is in your hand just token
for your thoughts. The overlords milking our morphic
resonance cheers our utter existence.
It’s that time of the season
Nodding Praise Our Annual Phase
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
Variable, that patch across the way,
by and large the same day to day,
ever sly trends reflect the mood of a
given day. Coaxing light helps heaps
grow, come winter fresh snow, puddles
tell of weeks long rain, the birds sing
their song round the edge so, you’d
wonder if the world hadn’t left us alone,
a note on the table, I’ll be back in a couple
of weeks. A call dropped? No I’m still here,
just let this moment be. The birds sang again
today, and the world let this moment be.
A fun to figure, try to pronounce the title as one word.
Salute-in-Song
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
Come rare through all that is above,
condense in style from ingredient isles
a selective chance you knew it had to be.
Sprung when the space was right, or was it
time to have a stretch? Bound to distance, an
explanation of all else; a here to there till the
curve flattens out. Harmonics surfing sound,
all there is to do is play.
A door opens inward.
Womb Would’ve Known
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
Shot from a cannon with a cry, hands of anticipation
cradle and rejoice another plummet. Form of impressions
soft to the touch, a bundle of things to come.
Portrait of the whole falls to pieces, boundaries undefined.
Steps taken, shape sought in hammer and chisel world.
Lucky enough to fall into place, still an emptiness fills a space.
Mid puzzle crisis, what is a piece to do?
With the rug gone, clouds appear full of answers.
Wet from the rain one happens a pond,
met with a reflection, mirror of crystal sky.
Peace for piece with a look in the eye,
a portrait framed inside the whole.
There comes a time, and even then we can’t say for certain.
Dressed for Holiday
By Tyler Lucas Mobley
Jettison my darling, find this common wake,
throwback pairs of defining lights, smirking
sky bounds unrequited, dressed for holiday.
Chariots of exacting grace fiddle across our
pendulum planet. Veiled modalities pierced by
opposing ends, cogent leaps of boomeranged
expressions surface over pent up millenia.
Sojourned doubt dances over the void, the
grand swath of limerick contusions, embodied
with gallant strides through our one true vein.
Letters of Measure 