041117A
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Old things
get tossed away.
They drag them around
until muddy
and unrecognizable.
They do not let them,
dance anymore.
What it all means
as to being out of date.
Left to lingering
far too long
among the discards,
that no one dares
to be seen wearing out.
It is all based on impulse,
but yesterday's impulse
is no longer today's.
That spurt is over,
and something new to rise.
Tear down the old,
to put up the new again.
Successors no longer care
about anything
that yesterday made.
The vintage postcards
hanging in museums,
declaring long lost,
and ending vandalized.
It is the type of place
where they take the fun out,
in the processing to late.
Any who would open
their doors too wide,
find laughter,
at the invitation.
Cutting out hearts
is learned early
and practised hard.
As skillful as anatomists
dissecting apart
the various organs,
as to his and her's.
It all meets expectations,
neither exceeding nor defying
prevailing specifications.
The reasons are not found
in the published manuals.
Only the mean values,
and standard deviations.
Signs of a well ordered society
where everything is put
into its determined place,
while maintaining an illusion
of a natural aesthetic,
meticulously maintained
by careful arrangements.
041117B
-----------
They do not let people in.
They do not let
people
in.
They do not let people
in.
They do not
let people in.
Turn you inside out,
and right around
backwards,
then give you a kick
start
out the door.
All done out already
behind your back.
Absolute disinterest
in anything
you might be about.
More selfish
than junkie culture,
as to their junk.
Ready to ruin anything
of would be yours.
You feel a need
to be bandaged up
and sent away.
Beaten out
down to the toe tag
of whatever it was
you imagined
getting into.
You want to slip out
before you end up
zipped into a body bag.
The mystery of nothing
being evidenced
as points of actual entry
getting under your skin
to cause that much trauma.
Existential reduction
down to the dust
on furniture.
Something brooms chase out
where it balls up
in dark corners,
trying to gather
its few stray facts.
----------------------
041117C
-----------
Made practically dead.
At least in theory,
as to what you can do
in that vast all alone,
turned to brain splatter.
That vast starless space
of groping for things
that all seem misplaced,
in among stumbles
into more darkness.
It is something like a cult
where you failed
initiation to membership.
Black balled by anything
that was said or done.
Being locked out,
having come too late
after the show started.
Nowhere left to go,
but feeling really gone.
----------------------------
041117D
-----------
No tribe anymore,
and feeling drummed out
of any sort of dream time,
wishful anticipation
as to might have been
according to any sort of plan.
Cut loose into disaster,
being a free fall plummet
into nothing doing
with anyone,
becomes a torn out heart
tossed from the pyramid.
There is really no one
to do it with,
but everyone is doing it
with others.
Makes the odds far worse
than a typical suicide mission.
The only policy in effect
seems to be one of exclusion,
but no one bothered
to write it up into formal prose
to warn outsiders
as to any fool venturing.
Hostiles differ now,
from typical past profiles.
They kill very softly,
with subtle nuances,
and careful positioning
encircling with disregard,
as they count coup.
-----------------------
041117E
-----------
Sometimes it all goes
entirely wrong,
and nothing you can do
to fix what is broken.
Some worn out two bit part
in the machinery
of what seems your whole universe
having suddenly failed.
Whatever it was about
starts to wobble and swerve,
careening out of control
right into the oncoming
of fresh competition.
A shattering moment
of deer in headlights realization
announcing the damage
gone beyond control.
If life were a ship at sea
the order would be given
to abandon.
A feeling of going down,
with no idea what up really is,
but having heard rumours
as to there being such a place.
You really do not know
until you have been there.
They always invite you in
so that you can look,
to find it is goods for sale.
Your pockets too empty
makes it feel worse
than up against rough trade.
Every game you come to
seems to be a rich man's game,
leaving you scuttled and listing.
Pocket full of hopes
buys less than nothing,
and you end up paying for that too
while running on empty.
You worry more and more
about all the little things
when you come up against it
hitting on you that hard.
Going over and over
those so very difficult decisions
to find how it all went wrong.
What was it leading or misleading
to make believe you could afford
a snowball's chance
in the hell they make of it all.
Seems a jump from a frying pan,
the way a moth seeks flame.
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