110813A
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Rumors of war
scrawled on back alley walls.
No indication
as to who is fighting whom.
Places that emphasize
the conditions of abandonment.
The debris of civilization
pushed out of sight.
An atmosphere
as oppressive as a chemical fog,
drifting across the trenches,
of new excavations.
Nothing really lives
down in the shadows.
Places that have perished
both the cat and the mouse.
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210813A
------------
The little cruelties
that come to remind us,
of our mortality.
Various measures,
and unexpected cancellations,
pretending to be twists of fate.
The rewind and replay
of the same old patterns of events,
after they have gone out of style.
We suffer the sequence of betrayals
that come from people we once knew,
wiping away smears of cherished history.
The worst of it all the annihilations
of what once had such positive meaning,
even if only in unwritten memoirs.
Then we have to revise all the lies
that we have so completely become,
erasing so many parts of ourselves.
What remains is shoddy and abrupt,
the way a knife is abrupt
in its cutting off and cutting away.
One never quite gets accustomed
to that type of suffering,
no matter how much one practices.
and as normal as a habitual diet.
One would feel lost without the taste of it.
It only proves one cannot restart dreams
from what have become dead engines,
suited only to being scrapped out.
Everything significant ends
long before it really begins,
and some refer to that as providence.
Impossible to resume a sweet conversation
that was interrupted too many times,
with long, cold, hard, interruptions.
Easier to be whipped
until one bleeds
a variety of soothing brain chemicals.
Simply another way to learn hatred
for various sorts of competitors,
who refused to let one lose graciously.
They were playing a different game,
but it hardly matters as western butterfly wings
cause eastern typhoons to ruin landscapes.
including the various stigmata,
as come to the odd, from those who are even.
I am trying to run away to a circus,
but so far none of them want me as their freak,
saying that I came too late for that salvation.
There is always some new discovery
as to one or another type of unfortunate event
that one can learn to envy.
There is something to be said
for the disfigurement of ugliness,
but that too comes at a forbidding price.
I have gone long past
wherever it was that my hopes ended,
as if that is the right thing to do.
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210813B
-----------
You kept hurting me
as if you wanted me,
but in the end
you did not want me that much.
Insert any name, any face,
in the various blanks,
adding random lines of text
accompanying the same actions.
I became the exiled leper
to your colony of the cured,
as if they all feared
that I might seriously infect them.
It is something similar
to how the public seeks messiahs
for a few moments
of vulgar entertainment.
I could never save you,
from anything,
and you could never save me,
but we might have had a good time.
Sometimes that is all there really is
to the confusions of variables,
in the seemingly unsolvable equations,
from Big Bang to gravitational collapse.
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210813C
------------
Mourning becomes a persistent habit,
along with burying the dead,
and the exorcizing of any remaining ghosts.
There are times when one forgets
how to do much of anything else,
having become so haunted.
I have had to bury so many
I am not certain any more
that I know how to do anything else.
It is always sudden,
and as unexpected as possible,
cutting everything short.
Some of them having to be buried,
without as much as a name,
or a date of birth.
The mind becomes a cemetery,
where one is increasingly afraid to dig,
for fear of disturbing the deceased.
If I could discover there the control room is,
that controls the process as to so much dying,
I would destroy it.
The way Samson brought down the temple
in a heartbroken moment,
consumed by uncontrollable rage.
None of it was meant to be that selfish,
but eventually anyone can be broken down
to one or another purely selfish act.
As it is I can only weep at the wall,
never really knowing
anything of the other side.
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210813D
------------
I have no angel wings,
and I am really no good
at being any sort of devil.
I would have made love to you,
in my own way,
but you only wanted something metaphysical.
So I had nothing to offer or give,
beyond the measured little doses of pain
that disguised me as something too human.
No one ever understood,
and no one ever really will understand,
what they made me keep all to myself.
They said I was never fast enough,
never high enough,
and always wide of their mark.
I had my own dreams too,
but they were not what was really wanted,
so they took them and defiled them.
It is the long process of giving up,
that is so very hard to endure,
starting at the cradle, ending at the grave.
I was always searching
for something in between,
all of those worthless extremes.
I never found what I was looking for,
or rather whatever it was never found me,
leaving me in trouble with Heaven and Hell.
On the outside looking in again,
trying to go around,
but ending up trapped in the middle.
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