| RE: POEMS 220709 - July 22nd, 2009 |
http://groups.google.com |
| Robert Morpheal, Bob Ezergailis, Morphealism (morpheal@yahoo.com) |
2009/07/22 22:02 |
220709A
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The exchange of words
signifying various little events,
is the same as clouded water
flowing under a bridge.
Toss in a scrap of paper
watching it race away,
until it tumbles and disappears,
around a distant horizon.
The ink stains wash away,
slowly abandoning
the white flag of surrender,
the way blood leaves flesh.
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220709B
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If nothing else eats you alive,
the fear eats you alive,
no matter how often you deny it.
You become the cock that crows,
signifying your own betrayal.
You waited for the question
that no one asked,
watching all their tongues
cut across your wrists,
as deftly as razors.
You bury the day
the way you buried all the others,
who failed you
more than you failed them,
having no one left to really trust.
If you could make bail
from the prison of what you know,
you could at least afford to dream
of finding someone new,
other than the ghosts in your mirror.
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220709C
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The only game in town
was the game with nothing to win,
giving you an illusion
of playing for high stakes.
You could have killed time,
in an endless number of other ways,
and lost less than half as much,
but you were not greedy enough.
Reality has failed to be profitable,
therefore reality no longer matters,
and any fiction would have been better
than only learning new ways to lose.
They ignore you in the markets
where the senses are bought and sold,
knowing you have nothing to spend,
discarding your orifices.
You measure the holes,
watching them grow larger day by day,
until everything falls through,
at a constantly accelerating pace.
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220709D
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There is no way left,
to really make an impression.
Face down, pushed into the sand,
the way any wreck is tossed ashore.
You feel as though you are a carpet
under the feet of everyone you ever knew.
Every communication you ever sent
is another satellite failing to make orbit.
You kept trying to connect,
but the operator pulled your connection.
You can read something into it,
but you know there is nothing there.
In the end, no one was really interested,
and it is too late to restart that engine.
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