140516A
------------
The invisible monuments
are often more important
than the ones that we see.
We try to tell ourselves that,
as if we can convince ourselves
to erase every remaining trace.
Leave the trail cold,
as to any indications
that anyone ever traveled it.
Destroy the remaining records
the way footprints vanish
in the shifting sand of forever.
Realizing that is not any more real,
than the alternative
that we contemplate wiping away.
-----------------------------------------
140516B
-----------
One can make the same mistakes
differently every time.
Something that happens
due to a failure of real options.
Options that would have gotten you out
of being trapped in the same circle,
going around for another spin.
It is not the engine
that you think that it is,
driving everything forward,
in short, swift strokes.
Your crucifixion to anything
that happens to rise up,
from the corpse impaled land.
Any disaster gains more recognition
than anything you put your hand to,
unless it left you and broke free
from the possibility of your touch.
Some of them are as terrified as you are
of being held down,
until there is nothing left.
The past is never what you saw,
but only what you never see again.
Meant to make one’s self more thankful,
the way a journey makes one thankful
on leaving a bad destination,
learning nothing more of any of it,
other than the habit of moving on.
------------------------------------------
260516A
-----------
There is always that possibility
of being found
good enough to be used,
but deemed too defective
to reproduce
on any of the assembly lines.
Death of the sex machine,
sex and death machine,
death and sex machine.
Proves that you meant nothing
to any real future,
that anyone planned for you.
You only exist on paper,
as the paper shuffle
of a paper slave,
folded neatly and creased up tight,
the way origami is made
into any possible shape.
You live in a land of broken toys
that they do not want to play with.
It all gets taken apart,
being broken down,
to collecting up the pieces,
in a clean sweep, of swept away.
Whatever mark you left anywhere,
is threatened with being wiped away,
and you feel as lost in the big world
as every little thing
that you ever loved and misplaced
never imagining how you would miss it.
-------------------------------------------------
260516B
-----------
The small things,
they are the small things,
that we do from day to day.
I feel more attached to small things,
then I ever did before,
and that you know nothing about.
You wanted something big,
and that meant I was too small for you.
That made the others laugh.
Your desires grow larger all the time,
while I grow smaller and smaller,
in the shadow of all that.
I was always too small for you,
but I wanted to be loved
for what little was never a big mistake.
----------------------------------------------
260516C
-----------
Everything that we seem to do
is always about attacking and defending,
something.
Even if we cannot really see or know
what it really is,
that we are attacking and defending.
I have no interest anymore
in thrusting at things in the dark,
or in defending against thrusts.
I kept wanting to leave all that behind,
as to all that advance and retreat,
in all those rapid successions.
I wanted something very different
that I had never found anything of,
and that I still doubt I will ever know.
A sort of beauty that never exists
on all those secret battle grounds
that keep consuming most everyone.
----------------------------------------------
|
|