141216A
------------
Nothing sweet about it
and never knew anything else
made as bitter
not even bitter sweet
for sake of memories
but pure, absolute, bitter
with no shades in between
one extreme and the other.
Enough to kill something
without a doubt,
as there is never any passion left
in what is perfectly purely bitter.
Proving only the obvious
that wine always turns to vinegar.
Gone the wrong way again
to what becomes bitterness,
in all that wanting for sweet
and it always turns to bitter.
----------------------------------
141216B
-----------
I recollect
there was a time
when everybody had to
come out
of their shells.
I recollect
there was a new time
when everybody had to
get back in
their shells.
Not only get back in,
and stay in,
but never come out
ever again
of their shells.
Not come out
unless to risk
being soft,
exposed,
and stepped on.
I have no idea
what happened
in between
that flick of a switch
as to off and on.
The way everything is
off and on again,
the screaming wheels
sliding down the rails
toward nowhere to go.
---------------------------
141216C
-----------
Those requests
that you are wanting
even if secretly,
privately,
to inquire about,
were all denied.
It does not matter
as to the details,
because
there are reasons
that cannot be
explained.
No reflections
on anything.
You are becoming
transparent enough now
for anyone
to look at
and walk through.
----------------------
141216D
------------
Trying to sort out
all the lines of fate and money
tangled up together
the way they are.
Looking for an answer
to some mystery or other.
Only to realize
that is another rationalization
as to why
it went so very badly.
If nothing else is found
then it had to be a mystery
becomes the easy way out.
It was always tainted
by belief,
that it would go the other way,
and belief included mystery,
not today, not yesterday,
not tomorrow, maybe someday,
no idea when, if ever,
sometime, never, perhaps,
before all too late,
and gone badly, ended badly
to nothing more than that
mystery
to reinvent and blame.
----------------------------
141216E
------------
Reality always sucks.
Reality is the suction
sucking incessantly,
at our marrow,
right to the heart
of our bones,
reality always sucks
and sucks and sucks,
at every secret thought
and every hidden dream,
at candled wishes
on all those birthday cakes,
reality sucks,
with its vacuum emptiness
that sucks, sucks out,
so very much, it threatens
to suck out everything
the way reality sucks
and threatens
to suck out everyone,
and everything,
leaving a null and void
heavily inked stamp
of bureaucratic disapproval
as the only indication
as to what might have happened
to whatever it was
that might have been.
--------------------------
141216F
-----------
There is always a Frankenstein
that everyone seems to love,
who knows exactly how
to do all of the wrong things
for all of the right reasons,
in exactly the right amounts
of appropriate excess.
There is always a Frankenstein
who gets all of the invitations,
that none of the monsters
that happen to hang around
ever get a chance to get into,
before they are chased out
into the darkness.
---------------------
141216G
------------
Scraps of paper,
accumulated reminders,
as to what was seen, where and when,
but it is what never happened
that it is all really all about.
It is what never happened,
where all the tears collect
in their bottomless reservoirs,
between collected formal notes
as to what and where and when.
It is what never happened
that the whole story is really about
written in between the printed lines
of formal text memories.
It is what never happened,
what never happens,
what is never actually happening,
that makes the spaces,
resembling streets and alleyways
of going somewhere
in the mind,
forming a roadmap scrap book
of varied destinations
along the way,
across paged spans of time.
Space reminders
as to what was never there,
to really find,
seeming vacant lots,
and abandoned spaces,
in between those scraps
of destinations.
Maybe someone had it going,
the way the imprint implied,
where the crowd gathered,
to celebrate something,
but nothing was really going,
the way it needs to go.
It was all only more of the same
comings and goings away,
always a going away
feeling so much emptier
than the spaces,
instead of really anywhere
one really wanted to go.
---------------------------
141216H
------------
I always loved Christmas,
but the days up to it
seem the same as waiting
for a terminally ill patient to die,
watching the lingering,
sinking malaise,
of what might have been hopes
perishing slowly away.
It seems to be a power lift thrust
without any sort of warm up
leading to something breaking down
in an excess of efforts.
A rocket launch
that explodes
without reaching anywhere.
The trumpet blast crescendo
shockwave
without the lead up of sounds
that make an orchestra.
Then the coming down
from that epiphany
back into the same old silent night,
where nobody ever calls
that you hoped to hear from,
and you work at completing burials
of the year’s perished dreams
until you come to the last day
of the passing year
when you can start over again.
-------------------------------------
141216I
----------
Tongue lashing myself
to reality, and with realities
that seem too obvious to evade,
against the desire to evade them.
The realities
of the grand opening of nothing,
and nothing special ever happening,
beyond kicking at the walls.
No it never gets any better
than sentenced to wasted
and wasting time
in some guilty verdict
for which there are no pleas,
as it is all so automatic.
Tongue lashing myself
to stop building
doll houses
where the only thing to do
is to perpetually rearrange
the various furnishings.
Tongue lashing myself
to get out
of the Sisyphian sandbox
dilemma,
of moving mountains
of sand
slowly forward
and back again,
within a confined space.
Tongue lashing myself
about all that building up
only to tear down,
to start up again.
Trying to tongue lash myself
to the wheel,
but not sure what the wheel is,
or what vessel might take me
away from my imaginings.
---------------------------------
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