291017A
-----------
Might have meant something,
but it means nothing now.
Falls through in the middle.
Down into the crack,
between any two lies.
Things to do,
that make no difference.
Cooking up a dinner
for a never happening
dinner party.
The censors decided
the dishes were too sexual.
Censorship is suppression
of repression
of any appetites.
Bon appetite,
and why not choke
on the pride
you tried to swallow,
that would not go down.
Living among killers,
and trying to be nice,
in between attempts.
Language is the bitch,
would cut your tongue out.
Everything except the illusion,
routinely disintegrates.
The predicted failure
of the recording media,
determining the outcome.
Cannot begin to imagine
the pain of crushed testicles
being the purest literature.
Does subject matter exist
for castrated writers ?
--------------------------
291017B
-----------
After the indoctrination,
what happens ?
Welcome to any potential crisis
as to your personal identity.
Spend the rest of eternity
rediscovering your true self
and never having a clue.
An army of salesmen
try to sell you the impossible.
You nearly cave in
to their forceful use of belief,
simply to get rid of them.
Try to collect them all
until you have a full set.
Something to do,
when you are not on a payroll,
and thus have no justification.
Discoveries as to dreams
conning your investment dollars
into myriad false propositions
about how the universe works.
Rube Goldberg contraption
that it always was,
and still trying to make sense of it.
A weakness of mind,
demanding some order from chaos,
even if it means inventing rules
to fill in the agonizing spaces.
On the multi-level Earth
your piece got taken
in an unwary moment,
so you went down a level,
separating you from the other
playing pieces in a game
you had no idea how to play.
The playing pieces never do
actually know how to play.
Every time you feel moved,
you begin to react with suspicion.
You do not want to be taken again,
to end up eliminated,
along with all the shit that happens.
--------------------------------------------
291017C
------------
Lasso it
with strings of words
that you twist together.
That thing
that you cannot say
knowing no one
will ever really let you.
A flimsy sort of rope
that never breaks.
To bring something down
that always resists you,
and never gives in.
A writer never really does
submit.
The real threat
is always the presumed reality
of any mistaken description
best left unrealized.
Once you fall into that mode
you are done as to functionality,
and ready to be sliced up.
-------------------------------
291017D
-----------
Gone out of practice
as to putting the mind into
only the most tedious things.
Holding it there,
not allowing it to move
from that position.
Otherwise it wanders,
trying to find something
that is never there.
Ferile and dangerous,
always struggling harder
to become suitably obsessed.
A tragedy of planning
differently
than incessantly revised
into insignificance.
Struggling to get up
from the push pull down.
Afraid of being consigned
wrong end up,
and in the wrong class,
of packaging,
where they tease with lessons
as to how the others live.
Stencil a logo on,
in pretensions as to belonging.
Add handle with care,
for someone to toss about.
Get a certificate affixed
claiming sanitization.
--------------------------
|
|