221113A
------------
A misfit thing,
that does not belong
where it is.
The broken part
being removed
and replaced.
The sound of a voice
silenced
by no one listening.
-----------------------
231113A
-----------
The way a snowflake forms,
drifts, dancing briefly,
until it crashes.
Our lives collide with each other,
leaving a sea of scattered debris
floating in the dark of our minds.
The eyes covered with fantasies,
tongues are the worms
trying to find a way in.
I never thought it would be that way,
always going,
from the warm to the cold.
Freezing and melting
forming patterns of uncertainty,
where the wreckage is examined.
The way everything is broken,
as heaps of bones and wings,
torn off and condemned.
The way it is buried,
as another loss
of one among many.
A tiny droplet of water,
vanishing into that vast desert
that comprises an endless sea.
-------------------------------------
231113B
-----------
The universe as a series
of catastrophes:
one annihilating the other.
We too are a catastrophe,
suffering
one annihilation after another.
We prefer to dream
that it is about something
other than destruction.
We build everything up
as if it will never be destroyed,
in all those sudden endings.
----------------------------------
261113A
------------
One tends to forget
what anything really tastes like,
in the persistence of the same.
We are broken by beautiful exceptions,
and not by the perpetual sufferings
of what is persistently commonplace.
We all have our weaknesses
created by something we need
that we never chanced to have any of.
The longing that one sometimes feels,
to be rid of the weight of that armor,
that guards each vulnerable place.
There is no one perfect blade
to cut straight through the heart,
but rather it is how the blow is struck.
It tells you there is really nothing,
where there seemed to be so very much.
A mere shadow of a darker past.
----------------------------------------
261113B
-----------
Inspiration is the cruelest thing,
that happens in this time and place,
too often being all the sorts of things,
with all the sorts of people,
that one would have loved to know,
before death happens to undo
the only knot one chances to have
that does not come completely undone
at all the worst moments.
All the habitual danglings from threads
of various given illusions,
All the planned get aways
that only leave stranded,
in each new crowded solitude.
Kept scurrying about for crumbs,
toward each fear of a sudden stop.
Every start you ever came to,
was another disguised ending.
turned stiff and cold,
along defensive lines, of jabs and cuts,
where razor tongues routinely cut throats.
The persistent tease of perpetual longings
luring to countless numbers,
of inevitably fatal errors
tabulated into reliable statistical tables.
Nothing was really saved,
but you can store it in memory,
where it will be corrupted and compiled.
You try to erase yourself,
from the page where you do not want to remain
merely a prisoner of a subset
of various accumulated losses,
having been written off,
--------------------------------------
261113C
-----------
Weary from those endless attacks
that hit at the nostalgia and sentiment
that stands in the way of larger wars.
Those little collections of inhibitions,
that you keep refusing to give up,
from being artifacts of your history.
The same people who are saving lambs
would send you to the slaughter,
but not until you are thoroughly fleeced.
One is given to fighting for everything,
even when there is no way to win,
anything more than an empty promise.
They break everything up and down,
but they always blame you,
as if you could clean up their mess.
Ignorance is invariably selective,
but it never really chooses you,
in any way that you want to be chosen.
They only tested you
to find out what you should have been,
so they could stop you from becoming.
Nothing ever brings back
whatever they take away,
in the name of a mock salvation.
----------------------------------------
261113D
------------
You condemned me
for the fact
that I can only refer to the cold
as being cold.
You condemned me
for not believing
that it is warm
when it is cold.
Then you condemned me
for imagining
something better
about you.
--------------------------------
271113A
------------
Now and again
one happens to meet someone,
who acts as a reminder.
Something to resurrect
that sense of profound boredom
with the more usual.
A reminder of the habit
of putting out of mind
most of what one really wants.
It works like a key
that is designed for a lock,
releasing a kind of beast.
On the morning after,
one feels completely ravaged,
filled with new ideas.
It is always similar
to another loss of innocence,
hung over with too much reality.
----------------------------------------
|
|