Fifty is a random number,
Attracted by the logical
Mathematical calculating
Alphanumeric functional
Mind that dwells in many
Vastly complex equations,
Fifty can be very random,
But in marketing, it is not,
Simple fact of its worth
Will only be noted when
The equation is challenged,
And instead of an integer
Like fifty, a more profiting
Number is the forty-nine
Point ninety-nine, and
That is the worth of an
Item worthy of a fifty,
Fifty is not that random,
It is half of a hundred –
A number that is labelled
Separately than all others,
A symbol, a century, and
Fifty is half a century,
And so, I choose to write
Fifty random poems in
One challenging month,
And now, I write my fifty.

Painful Poetry

So never cry a poem out of pain
For it will painfully open a wound,
Once stabbed beyond comprehension
With a similar anguished cry voiced
Above all whispers of many men,
Letters emerging from their tears
To recreate a sonnet –
The love story between a wound
And an everlasting infinite dream,
Their coexistence reinforces an imperfect
Being to commence a burial ceremony,
The art established for mental
Initiation will relieve the copious
Lists of duties clouding the heart’s
Movement: forward into a brickwall,
Or backward into a timeless abyss,
Or maybe sideways until crushed
Down to the white bones immersed
In this life’s bloodpool,
The art of a painful sonnet
Is but an alphanumerical equation,
A method of encrypting many tearful
Men falling into a painful poem.