310619A
------------
Something inside
always keeps looking
for one diamond
never found,
in the black heart
of the coal mine.
Ace of spades touch,
blackens it out,
covered over
beneath night's wings:
a gentle kill
repeats the centuries.
Time is a chain,
dragged across faces.
Leaves its marks,
then descends
into entanglements
with the dead.
The conclusion,
of each investigation,
leaves no one innocent.
Every love song
ever sung
was sung by the guilty.
We arrived
and then we left,
but that was years ago:
memory is a wish
that comes broken
and too late.
Not knowing,
who or why,
in vague connection.
Seems evident
that it was long ago,
and then forever again.
----------------------------
310619B
------------
Drag the carcass out,
carefully avoiding
waterlogged tear ducts.
You could drown in those
if momentarily careless.
Everything gathered,
that might have been
pleasing to the eyes,
replaced by a corpse
beaten raw with desires.
The eyes are where we look
for signs of life.
Usually finding indications
of propaganda,
smearing the visual field.
Traces of thoughts
appear tenderized
by blows from a mallet.
Nibbled bits of conversation
lodged in mid sentence.
They explode
if you touch them.
Rip your mind out
like pink candy floss,
through all your orifices.
Fly in a crowd
of vibrating wings,
performing the ceremony
of feel good
remains.
The time of death noted,
there was nothing left
for further examination.
It was a piece of property
that had to be returned.
----------------------------
310619C
------------
You were the body,
and I was the blood.
A wafer thin attempt
to save something.
Getting drunk
on emptiness.
You were the crumbs
that end at left behind.
I was an emptied bottle
reflecting the stain.
It concludes that way
with nothing to remember.
--------------------------------
310619D
------------
Searching the indices,
and the telephone listings.
Looking through mug shots,
for missing pieces.
Anxious moments,
as empty streets,
collide with blank eyed
edges of excavations.
The heart of a void ticket
punched too many times.
It goes nowhere,
but it gets there faster.
They made it a miracle
that anyone ever does
meet anyone,
for the love of anything.
In this part of town:
miracles out of stock,
temporarily unavailable,
according to a faded sign.
Demolition
of the jack hammered brain.
Tear down of yesterday's
slogans and intentions.
Never will see anything
remotely recognizable,
despite vague similarities
in relapse into deja vu.
--------------------------
310619E
-----------
We are frightened creatures,
furtive as mice,
forever dwelling in the shadows
of that big black cat.
Scurry into holes
where the light leaks in,
a make believe covenant
between prey and predator.
Hardly any wiggle room,
in the isolating squeeze
of searching for something
that it never lets us find.
Mousetrap of a fat chance,
ready to snap tight,
just around the corner,
of inverted reasons.
Throw a pail over it,
and let it exhaust itself
going in every direction,
trying to find the way out.
Everyone else runs away,
after nibbling the usual
measured dose,
of poisoned conversation.
No idea what to say,
to fill those glaring spaces,
beyond the basics
of name, rank and serial number.
----------------------------------------
Some dark poems for these darker times.
Too late to warn you that they might induce a feeling of deep and indefinite anxiety that simply does not want to go away. You will have to learn to live with it. Realize that it likes you and that it will refuse to leave.
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