X-Received: by 10.224.29.76 with SMTP id p12mr23714567qac.5.1372649606605;
Sun, 30 Jun 2013 20:33:26 -0700 (PDT)
X-Received: by 10.49.58.242 with SMTP id u18mr612475qeq.23.1372649606574; Sun,
30 Jun 2013 20:33:26 -0700 (PDT)
Path: news.nzbot.com!not-for-mail
Newsgroups: alt.surrealism
Date: Sun, 30 Jun 2013 20:33:26 -0700 (PDT)
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: glegroupsg2000goo.googlegroups.com; posting-host=216.209.129.12;
posting-account=Yz75XAkAAAD6USPMMugEa2OM62xjifzM
NNTP-Posting-Host: 216.209.129.12
User-Agent: G2/1.0
MIME-Version: 1.0
Message-ID: <1b98bfd7-bad5-4550-b315-d5f44e73dc0c@googlegroups.com>
Subject: Poems: 300613 - June 30th, 2013
From: Robert Morpheal <morpheal@yahoo.com>
Injection-Date: Mon, 01 Jul 2013 03:33:26 +0000
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=windows-1252
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable
X-Received-Bytes: 7355
Xref: news.nzbot.com alt.surrealism:2777
300613A
------------
You did not ask me,
so I did not tell you.
We went through the rituals
of the usual formalities.
You were guarding the borders,
of your own flesh,
asking for documents,
before revealing your private number.
We never got as far as that,
because you rejected the details
that were printed on my report.
We all have histories,
and any of us can serve
torturing out the fiscal facts
as to why there is poetry
in various charts of accounts,
pushing aside the numbers,
so they can no longer march
in perfectly even rows,
towards balanced sums
protecting against deadly fiscal sins.
Your lips were forbidden territory,
on the other side of razor wire looks,
that graced your Berlin Wall mentality.
You knew I was only another defector,
having betrayed more than I knew,
about your battle lines and plans.
I would have loved
to parachute acid into your cocktail,
but you would never have let me
ever go that naked and that far,
toward destroying all your chains of commend.
You knew immediately I was dangerous,
having pegged me as a brutal mercenary
who would only fight for his own cause.
You worried about any possible invasions,
calling up all of your best defenses,
by walking through all the locked doors,
and having you as mine in the forbidden night,
leaving no trace of having been there,
when you reached the morning,
aching with new feelings of absence.
---------------------------------------------
300613B
------------
I have forgotten
how to catch a look
the way butterfly nets
catch butterflies and moths.
Not much I can do
with no more than a look,
beyond putting it in a specimen jar
with the usual killing solution.
-------------------------------------
300613C
------------
Social paralysis
invades the system gradually,
as a persistent sort of germ,
the way polio used to
paralyze the body.
The victims sit, propped up,
in the same repeated conversations.
Their tape recorder minds
doing looped rewind, replay, rewind,
sequences in random successions.
Mechanical lungs,
sucking in the usual chemistry,
enabling predictable reactions.
No news that we have not seen before
smeared across faces and papers.
The prognosis became irrelevant,
long before the injection
of any profound new criticisms.
Increasing the dose,
was all that was really inevitable.
-----------------------------------------
300613D
-----------
Charmed, I am sure,
and immediately you see a snake,
ready to coil around you,
making it difficult to breathe,
and hard to swallow.
I assimilate your poison,
becoming paralyzed by your beauty.
I tell you that you can do anything to me
that you really want to,
Everything is by special arrangement,
as if that justifies belief in gods.
We end up being sacrifices,
as if we can really hope to appease them,
after all else has come undone.
--------------------------------------
300613E
-----------
If I had told you that I loved you,
the only thing you would ever have done
is to try to find new and complicated ways
They taught you well,
as to how to deceive us both.
It hardly maters anymore as to what is true
as long as you get to prove it.
You know I always wanted to be
so much of what they did not want,
that you became only another face
noted on the battle lines.
They always keep me caged,
but they invariably give you a key,
that you never really know the use of,
keeping our situation locked.
When I run out of paper,
I write on all the walls,
hoping to chance on a name or phrase
that would suddenly change everything.
I see you disappear into the marketplace,
where you are auctioned off
to one or another of the bidders,
leaving me counting my spare change.
I feel as though I am the cancelled stamp
that remains on the outside envelope,
of your secret, private, letter,
torn apart in the offering.
It reminds me of others long lost
in polite breakdowns of communication.
We never crossed the real distance,
but a few times I held you in my arms.
-----------------------------------------------
300613F
-----------
Fireworks on a long weekend,
make their war sounds,
celebrating something other
than the occasion.
Millennia of human progress,
burying its dead,
and doing whatever it could
to avoid saying anything about us.
if our bodies are drenched,
in sheets of sweat
Our broken hearts and fractured flesh
in make believe
that it is the last day of the world,
on the brink of our extinction.
What more could we ask for
than that sort of finality,
finding its way into our veins
as though a perfect drug.
Tangled up in each other,
having left the rest of the world,
and having looked into the abyss,
from where we are on the edge of it all.
We slide in to the ending,
the way free fall might chance to feel,
crashing into oblivion,
in one last spurt of consciousness.
------------------------------------------
300613G
------------
Even the flowers are competing
fiercely, this year.
Their outbursts of dense color,
as short lived as exploding bombs,
of failed situations.
They fall apart and fade away,
under the blasts of bright sun.
Everything has a sort of finality,
when exposed to the heat and light,
the way it always is in battle.
We are little more than petals
torn quickly from the stem and falling,
bits of thin skins and sex organs,
having spent our lives.
There are moments when anything will do
that breaks the monotony,
defiling one or another form of virginity.
Our most desperate moments
coming nearer the end than the beginning.
All the little shocks that make it seem
as though it is a taste of real freedom.
----------------------------------------------
|
|