Poems: 220921 - September 22nd, 2021
Robert Morpheal <[email protected]>
| Newsgroups | alt.arts.poetry.urban |
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| Message-ID | <[email protected]> |
160921A ----------- Misery of flesh and misery of water if she were here her beauty could turn it to wine. She was a miracle with a high price tag constructed from pieces of whatever it was that was now popular. Can't find anything of the old religion don't understand any of the new don't want the truth. Had that before and it was the truth that wasn't really true but everyone believed it served their purpose. Too many brushes with too much death been so hard to wash the war paint off streaked rainbow shades. Only another category pretends at wanted but never really in on that competition of segregated shades. Colour never matters it is all black and white when it goes into print adding a few stories to a comic book life. Nothing really exists that you don't have to fight for or against but everyone wants to win at something or other. It isn't anything anyone ever said but it always goes without the saying to another sort of alone. This isn't happiness this isn't death not knowing anything that the others know when it gets pulled down. Down it all goes and you fall away not wanting any more of nothing happening and nothing left to say. ---------------------------- 170921A ------------ Just another piece that can play no part in the big puzzle. Thought it a wild card but it doesn't fit anywhere, anyhow. The misled misdeal of all those years turned to penny ante. No winning hand and not in any game I wanted to play. The swept aside and the swept up clouded grit and dust. I confess I wanted for some better options same as anyone else. Watching the worst get the best of any estimations. It is a different idea how some play favourite pastimes. Strange how it turns nothing to choose sight lines of fancy. There is no exchange of the right looks with the right eyes. Gaze into void travels with you whenever, wherever. No getting in on it and no getting away from it. ------------------------- 170921B ------------ Don't look to me in that cruel blaming way : I don't want to save you. You can go now and I won't be keeping you from selecting an ending. I had nothing to do with filling in slots in the vending machines. You can push a button and it will dispense your personal selection. We leave saving worlds to a few official saviours who can then take the blame. Don't call on me I never could be and never was your hero. No one really saved anything of any of the good things that have all gone away. The ones that I really liked were never constructed to last any length of time. Someone else responsible for burying them though I am still weeping. I didn't really want to be nothing but a part of their final ceremonies. So much that was fragile that I wanted to keep before it became broken. Perhaps there were pieces ending gathered up by professional saviours. Don't blame me that I was never really any part of that plan. ------------------------ 180921A ------------ You walk around made as invisible as what stands behind an illuminated billboard. It is that flashy bit that gets in the way same as a slow motion sort of fatality. You crash a party around the Chalk Circle trying to collect and decipher your own clues. Having no control over the messages sent but you can put blame on a face or a wardrobe. How to find any sway to ransom yourself from kidnappers who hold you hostage. If only you knew how to merch yourself out the way rock stars do it into vintage memorabilia. You don't really know what the right swag is or what rules to break in order to become famous. Same as it ever was would be the litany in an endless succession of escalating demands. It costs more now than you ever imagined and the skill testing question has already timed out. It isn't your name that is in that envelope where they draw names of winning contestants. It seems you never won at anything really and the only ones loved are in fact winners. Cannot start a conversation being left out on someone's far margin and maybe it is too late. Life is that chemistry labelled endlessly toxic, corrosive, reactive and lacking real substance. Substance seems everything if you happen to have the right substances you too can be popular. We are only chemistry unable to formulate real chemical bonds to keep anything together. -------------------------------- 210921A ------------ A hatred of dreaming comes from the fact there is never anyone there whom one really wants to know or make love to. Dreams are no longer something made for us but only discontent bringing chagrin of dead possibilities. No one comes that close with their eyes closed that it would be anything more than passes at street corners. Concrete times spreads out pages slab, post, connected lines broken thousands of repeating spaces. An ancient compositor that laid down the type face of the universe before final copy went to print. Stories of never tell and secret show boats drifting waters of the never know by invitations only. What will anyone think about the gone over into the strange where the pain dwells outside the ending. Roll up those windows lock those doors at the junction lights avoiding of pan handlers and sales pitch whores. Knee jerk reactions evasively usual species common contaminants strategic placements for maximizing fear. Freedoms changed to terror of something becoming lost never found again and never the same. Identical ice that no one breaks circulating naughty letters to plastic Santas at the melt away poles. Rock candy colours clown the salty sand licks of beached combing out the long high tide markers. No way to reconcile with the elements and the four quarters endlessly pulling everything apart. You stretched me until I fractured along the vertical and the horizontal modes of hold. -------------------- 220921A ----------- You're another wreck that never came in from what's gone cold and it is all gone cold every way it shakes. Another tremor in another shake up makes demands for too much faith in losing propositions. My eyes are melting the way they melt remnants of icicle life loosely passing as maybe lived. They teach goodbye until we forget how to say hello being only numbers too easily erased from consideration. Tick mark self identifies our confines into little boxes becoming whatever we choose to betray. Authenticity becomes another frail pretense at scavenging some additional means of attraction. Some silly words no one believes until shots are fired and something falls from a bloodied sky. Vestigial wings inside a skin bag never got as far as a pluck of feathers strewn pillow fight. Flutter sticks trying for the Moon find she is gone to another slice another time. Friends you thought looking up weren't really yours but you collected them as contraband. Smuggled yourself through a few doors as if belonging the way a stunt actor plays a star's role. Tried to sell yourself to anything black marketing a lemonade stand deranged state of mind. Wasn't more real when you fell out than when you fell in catch yourself hooked lines and sinkers. Need various permits to come and go seedy and soured in that last suit from the last tailor. Those hollow places you can never fill with the came and went made impressions as a footprint does. I'm not the sort of face you tend to remember and you're the sort of name I very soon forget makes up the tune of it. ---------------------------- 220921B ------------ Ironed myself out pressing creases along the folds of a discard flesh. Inserted stiffeners applying a celluloid rigid sort of collar button down life. A turn for the worse and no magic bullet that can assassinate any desires. Now you tell me you don't want a once mechanical working stiff. Various neck ties serving as tourniquets stopping fantasies from bleeding out. Pencils were once stubby phallic symbols sharpened in a hole and needed to be pushed. Becomes obsolescence technically replaced by rubber toys made more efficient. Rusted arms dangling from sockets propped up in the display case. The feelings gone from extremities due to the duration of prolonged misuse. A museum piece labelled frustration in a controlled climate of continual change. I wanted to be the fragile girl who only dances with the other girls. The small bulges of breasts nippled with cravings for softer promises. A sweet soft minded confection giving up all the hard moves. I wanted to escape the cold hard facts of being a prisoner to my anatomy. ------------------- We live in countless different prisons, of varying sorts, that we can never escape. Some of them we try to build, and even sometimes succeed in building to escape others. Some are more successful at that than others, and some are never really successful at it at all. Most of what we tend to do are escape attempts. The attempts to gain the experience of what we cannot experience. The attempts to know what we cannot really know. The attempts to have a chance to do what we cannot ever really do. Countless different escape attempts all defiant of our horrifying limitations. We even write on our walls the way the Marquis de Sade wrote on his. Of course we can imagine, using our incredible imaginations, what our own personal freedom could really be like. That too imprisons us because imagining anything is another prison that we then try to break out of, so as to know a reality. A reality we might never actually have any chance to actually know.