081213A
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The grind
is meant to grind you up,
spitting out,
that small cloud of dust,
quickly forgotten,
after getting in the eyes
for a short while.
What no one will tell you,
kills you softly.
A teased out thin strand
of hopeful anticipation,
cut off,
leaving bare patches
of worn away.
There is never any end
to something new,
causing falling behind
and becoming obsolete.
A replacement
is always waiting
in the wings.
Waiting for a call
that never comes,
and wondering
who might interrupt
the persistent silence,
with one or another
crumb of information.
The trail of crumbs
never leading anywhere
but deeper
into the maze,
where monsters await
those desperate enough
to follow.
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081213B
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I searched
where the lights were bright,
and in dark places,
but all that I found
was my own loneliness.
There were many,
who offered
to make me lonelier,
as if that was the answer
to any possible question.
I never found
anything I really came for,
though I was kept
a lonely prisoner,
for a while.
Now I no longer believe
you are anywhere
that I am allowed to go.
You must have escaped
it all a long time ago.
That is the way it chances,
in all the ups and downs,
of all that shaking up
and shaking loose,
of movers and shakers.
No word arrives,
beyond more advertising
as to when and where
someone can get
all that everyone needs.
One can stand in line,
as one of the condemned,
determining the sex of strangers,
and rating them on a scale
of personal appeal.
The only introductions
are new product lines,
coming without attachments,
along with commitment
as to a redeemable guarantee.
The conversation one wants,
always ends up being cancelled,
replaced by routine slogans,
about mass produced bliss,
if you have debit or credit.
You skim through
what is available to you,
along with the costs of upgrade,
into something you could love,
being lonely with.
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081213C
-----------
Going through the motions,
knowing that the ritual will fail,
the way it always fails.
It does not matter at all,
whether done right or wrong,
it always ends the same.
The only thing learned
are the obstacles,
that one cannot overcome.
Barriers raised up
to confront any protest,
blocking forward and back.
Never actually finding
the right time and place,
to cross any lines or fences.
It looked good at first sight,
but they always ask a higher price
than any you can afford to pay.
If you do not have any money
they still try to shake you down,
to take your dreams.
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081213D
-----------
Doing something,
when you cannot do anything
that you really want to do.
Missing whatever it is
that you cannot find any of,
that no one gives or spares.
A recipe made useless,
you stare at the other ingredients,
and have no idea.
You desperately mixed together
everything you were given,
and you got stopped right there.
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081213E
-----------
The half started conversation,
that can never be completed,
leaves the scars of its mysteries.
Sometimes there is the desire
to forget all the mysteries
that other people gave you.
Knowing that would erase away
much of the ugliness
that comes from those wounds.
Nothing ever hides those scars,
no matter what you remember,
or what you learn to forget.
More and more drift away,
from what it all makes of you,
going on to choose other targets.
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081213F
----------
Nothing to offer
that anyone really wants,
and nothing to offer
that I would want to give up.
It becomes another little war,
of me versus you,
along new dividing lines
that will keep us from touching.
I thought you were beautiful,
until you did something ugly,
a memory of your pretty face
the longings of my sadness.
We always mourn ourselves
when we lose someone,
having imagined possibilities
in a moment of empty hopes.
Each time that happens
we come away lonelier,
feeling emptied of something
that we cannot define.
Love really is
something we cannot talk about,
being forced to let it go,
so that the wealthy can have it.
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081213G
------------
A bit of carbon,
that has no expectations
as to any chance
of becoming a diamond,
despite all the pressure
and the heat
of any sort of passion.
The wheel of chance
is never really kind,
throwing its muck
in every direction,
digging the usual ruts
into a perpetual tedium
of all too common filth.
One ends up climbing
into a hole,
and looking over the edge,
expecting stray bullets
from any wayward eyes,
while listening to slogans
and other propaganda.
Going through the motions
of a string of mismatched options,
without finding any
instant of personal relevance,
rubber stamping
obligatory rejection notes
trying to keep up with it all.
It has been many years,
since I met anyone
who was more than a ghost
of polite inconsequence,
traded like player cards
to collect a whole set,
but never finding anything real.
Once upon a time
I believed there was a turning point,
where everything gets better
than it used to be,
but that was in fairytales
and nursery rhymes,
that one cannot really live in.
Funny how childhood sets us up,
to believe in so very much
that never really comes true.
I would have found you
a long time ago,
looking for the happy endings,
that we never got to begin.
--------------------------------
081213H
-----------
The plans others make,
always put an end to us.
Something we never get
to ever talk about.
The competition is so fierce
and always one step ahead.
The game is fixed,
no matter how one plays.
There is no way to negotiate
anything resembling peace.
They cut one down with a look,
before one can really get up to it.
Given nothing to count on,
but forced to keep counting it.
Eventually taking the exit,
out of a crowd of ignorance.
There is always something
that someone allegedly wants.
Always something I do not want,
to be pushed and shoved into.
No one ever asked,
and no one ever really listened.
They say you also wanted something
that I could never really give.
That too being something more
that I have no choice but to accept.
Never a word in edgewise,
everything dispensed with a finality.
Finding is never really a prelude
to anything but sudden disconnection.
Another scarce commodity
that has gone up in price.
It is how it goes nowhere at all,
in this land of the brave and the free.
It is not what you make of it,
and it is not ever what you think.
Each time I dare to imagine,
it becomes another failed wish.
All that is left are commercial messages
littering the mailbox.
I do not know any answers,
and am no longer sure of the questions.
When I ask, you only say no,
closing off the entire subject again.
The way it is with false beginnings
and I do not know any other kind.
It is like a novel or a game,
with no conclusion or no prize.
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