| Poems: 250416 - April 25th, 2016 |
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| Robert Morpheal (morpheal@yahoo.com) |
2016/04/25 15:55 |
250416A
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Pressured fear
that a skull will pop
spewing brain pus
weasels
and strawberry jam
from an adolescent zit
explosive force
to Mars and back
smeared lipstick
on cracked mirrors
of lost souls
entering orbit
seeking landing sites
to bury the remains
as to meanings
abandoned on dead worlds
with gold shovels
of progress
squeezed harder
and harder
for being too intimate
with venomous spiders
data decay
crunched into black holes
of anonymity.
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250416B
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Two new holes
in exchange
for every one you fill,
making you struggle
harder and faster
in perpetual quests
for entanglement.
The engulfing
and swallowing
of lesser entities,
disregarding safety.
Everything is determined
as to what bruises
and what is to be bruised.
Fruit of the loom
spins straws of chance
into gold epaulets.
Medallions of sorrow
cooked up
until well done,
commemorations
of falsified belief.
Freedom was a myth
commanding repetition
of any common curse,
demanding a balance sheet
of what goes in and out.
Getting away
becomes a chalice sip
of conformity,
rewarding with tourism
to holiday destinations,
taking the mind off
any real desire to escape.
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250416C
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Obverse,
converse and contrary,
concatenations
of chanced situational contexts,
stipulating behavior,
as if there is remaining value
in communicative interaction
failed attempts
at achieving freedom of choice.
Gambling casinos
providing the emphasis
on the nature of winnings.
Life is full of tokens
that cannot be spent
on anything of real value.
Besides the fact
of money
turned into social reward
for excessive conformity.
Dead fish
forever lured
to buy into something
they cannot ever afford,
means leadership
written large and bold
on obituary notices.
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250416D
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The growing popularity
of brain damage
is purely a coincidence,
rising in importance
along with the numbers game,
mass productive
of identical packages
that have no real content.
Put something in the slot
of expectation,
it swallows it up,
as never enough
to assure a good thing
will ever happen.
Traffic builds up
choking the journey
with the required anger,
to no real effect
beyond start over again.
Perpetual slamming
of the reset button
cancelling the game score
back to zero.
You tried for the next level,
but it was already full
of selected contestants.
You look for another way,
enabling you to lose
at something bigger
than before
already knowing
that nothing that you wanted
ever wanted any losers. .
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