090319A
-----------
Light screams
scalding whitewash snow
bright white
over painting
of absolute desolation.
I went out last night,
making a cabin fever gesture
of absolute desperation
craving for I know not what,
with no idea where to go.
Ever more entangled
in quantum leaps of despair,
tied up to imagination
being far too capable
of fortune telling and tease.
A dark state of mind,
seeking coincidence,
finding nothing of that sort.
A wild condition
craving wildness.
Break away momentary
gone over the brink of reality,
to evade the howling packs
of wild running dogs
that chasing their willing prey.
Friday night madness
infecting weekday corpse killing
short circuit brain frenzy,
battered numb get away boredom,
frustrations of brutal routines.
Could roughly sketch out
salient details of freedom,
but that would tip me in
to all those immanent purveyors
of mass cultural trivia.
Stranglehold tightens
grip against throat,
leaving a speechless knot,
tied to making no difference
as to anything.
Camouflage it all over
with common lies,
while hoping to get lucky
concerning someone new,
totally off menu, and special.
Same old scrap pile occurrences,
offering nothing to the appetites.
Could consume a city,
and still feel as if picking
at nothing more than the bones.
Knowing far too much
as to what people used to do,
when slip sliding through saying
the tight cracks between wars,
despite their intense difficulty.
Post apocalyptic flavor
of remnants of social scene,
gone ever more vacant;
leaves a few doorway ghouls,
monitoring illicit traffic.
Bombed out states of mind,
and no one let you in on it
so you get to count the casualties.
You find your own ruined body
somewhere in the slagged heap.
There I go again,
wanting for a quick escape,
but the ticket always explodes,
cancelling all arrives and departures:
making the rich bureaucrats laugh.
----------------------------------------
090319B
-----------
No good at finding,
or at being found.
That seems to end it right there,
leaving no real options
other than getting completely lost.
Wanting to open up,
gets closed down,
forcing surrender and slip slide away,
out into the forgotten night,
of last gasps of breathe.
Roulette wheel in fat chance,
spun by the perpetual rip off machines,
meant to leave nothing behind.
Keep running to survive,
within gold plated hamster wheels.
Officially designated not interesting
to anyone of any real interest.
That kills it right there,
putting the barriers up,
at the intersections of detour.
All that going around and around,
each fast track to nowhere.
Realizing no one is really met
at any of the sudden jerk stops,
that wasn't in a guarded condition.
Everything really wanted,
seems to be right off the map.
Hate the remaining destinations
littering the navigation displays,
as to coming within easy reach.
The alien landscapes stretched out,
in too many lonesome directions.
Whatever is met in these alien lands,
is rubber stamp always destined,
to different.
---------------
090319C
-----------
It pokes at you, and pokes at you,
the way water pokes at you
when you are nearly desiccated.
It leaves invisible marks
bruising your holographic body,
in a never to go public horror story.
Silent scream saga,
of absolutely everything is alright
as long as someone else is doing it.
You could never screen that
to any improperly medicated audience,
in fear of shattering reality.
---------------------------------
170319A
------------
They take the time,
with the intention of using up,
then discarding whatever is left.
Trudging dampened down chill,
across wastelands of dreadful,
panic of never know where.
Learning to leave behind,
illusions of come along,
while cutting various pull strings.
The stories written for childhood
makings for poorly prepared,
instilling wide eyed disbelief.
Never to be taken seriously,
in terms of pattern recognition
haunting later life.
Seriously wanting for something
that invariably cannot be had,
despite increasing feelings of need.
Imagining what freedom is like,
under the brutal glare of a solace
that attacks everything.
We had a chance in the dark,
where a kiss meant something
outside of public ownership.
-----------------------------------
170319B
------------
Nowhere left to go,
and milling about in a crowd
as if with purpose.
It has all happened before,
and nothing that you piled up
stopped it from happening again.
Cut adrift to out and away
into vague and eidetic seas,
of endless displacements.
Choppy roll and pitch,
of dead sales person long gone,
before an opening line.
A ghost carried in,
with nowhere to settle,
washed up against things.
No one to tell you,
where it has gone to,
beyond a sense of absence.
What a hungover is like
on a bad morning after,
but before any pleasure.
----------------------------------
170319C
-----------
All week you looked forward
to whatever it was you did not get,
at the sum total end of it.
No punctuation at the end of the line,
unless it pierces right through you,
pinning you to a wall, on display.
The way the same mud flows
plastic and endless
down slippery slopes of total sameness.
Eventually no way to tell any
one cubit from any the other cubit,
becoming the same huge mess.
Forever trying to get something,
that really gets you pulled out
from sinking into it.
All that grabbing at various things,
and flailing around,
to indicate unnoticed signs of life.
Not that anyone cares,
in that sea that only hears itself
in the depths of its own seashell.
Mimeographed a million times,
a million times, a million times,
of hard core evolution.
Despite trying to withdraw,
into mollusc reactive safety,
between layers of hard.
Ready made monument,
outlasts moist trails of slime
engendering sex and politics.
Not much left there
once you have lost all interest
in random spills of body fluids.
Dreading passages of time,
that lead to nothing more
than eternal recurrence of the same.
--------------------------------------------
170319D
------------
We played out that scene,
as if doing so makes any difference.
As if playing it out
really, actually, matters to anyone.
A hiccup of interruption,
somewhere on a cosmic time line,
the way broken down sits
waiting for its long lost intervention.
When it actually comes,
it sweeps the debris away,
into that cloud of cosmic dust,
that erases any further significance.
We lost our connection
while passing through the double slit
of someone else's experiments.
We might have had a good time,
between getting up and extinction,
if not for all that interference,
making it seem as if it mattered.
---------------------------------------
170319E
------------
They sent you to me
only to interfere,
with the million things,
I would want to do,
if I found half a chance.
They never send anyone,
any different from that.
Another way of carving
far beyond any recognition,
and right past the bone.
Letting go of someone,
becomes the usual habit,
avoiding further investigations
of the wrong puzzle pieces
as to trying to solve anything.
It always costs too much,
to solve anything,
and losing bead count tally
of those sorts of losses,
nothing will ever reconcile.
I keep my various plans
gathered up and trying
to piece themselves together,
into alternate arrangements,
but none prove lucky.
If nothing else is fatal,
the clock threatens,
dragging sword and dagger
hands around and around
a vicious stabbing circle.
------------------------------
I cannot write anything as fast as I used to do. Now I tend to go over it a
nd over it in a perpetual condition of doubt, changing this and that bit or
piece and never anywhere near to as self assured. A loss of self confidenc
e no doubt, due to the perpetual attrition that is continually being suffer
ed.
|
|