Poems: 270722 - July 27th, 2022

120722A
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The body that is broken
into bread and wine
becoming torn flesh 
and spilled blood.

Those the measures 
that are the measure up
the meting out 
and the measure of. 

It is about how much 
can be squeezed 
from the press 
after an initial crush. 

They cover up 
carnage with vows
and silence along trails 
of cheap plastic relics. 

We long for comforts 
never found and feeling
scourged outcasts
turned to embitterment. 

Everything is measured
including our passages
arising as mind and time 
straining against infinity. 

The ugliness that comes 
with the little death 
replaced by the constant 
of continual mortification. 

There is nothing else
to depend or rely on
but that one thin thread
keeping the beads in order. 

We once believed 
there are better lives 
for anyone to live in 
but everything is evasive. 

You cannot catch 
what goes that fast 
in a mere blink 
from a cruel eye. 

Dark mirrors that reflect
nothing but their selves 
as the distorted wishful 
spectres of private fantasy. 

Some call it love 
but it isn't even service
merely striking off 
what is made worthless. 

Everything made official 
in completely unofficial ways
forges added links 
to the weight of chains. 

What you thought you had
disappears into heaped
writhing bodies 
exchanging various parts. 

Vast bloats of intense pink
fleshed pigs squealing 
their pleasure centres  
pleasuring an amorphous mass. 

Horror of flesh arising
melts into lurid
phantasms and shapes 
stimulating voyeur audiences. 

Audiences invoked
by a famous magician 
to shift all the blame 
from absence to a crowd. 

Usually the story ends
at that destined moment 
repeated in a million lives
a million million times. 

Crowds tire quickly 
regardless of the spectacle 
and at that very moment 
are most likely to condemn. 

Begins with a split of atoms
into regulated processes 
constituting a steady decay 
into graveyard gossip.  

The crowded exit 
leading out of the theatre 
while anatomy lessons
continue upon the stage. 

Exits dense with crowds 
secret with desires 
for some illicit touch 
as if leaving with someone. 

They want to get away 
with something more 
than the victims they watched
being played out.

It is very hard to get in 
after you are out 
and some forever stand 
as examples to the fact. 

Futures collapse 
as detonated structures 
no longer valued 
massive piles of bones. 

The traffic snarls 
the way tin cans collide 
on a conveyor belt 
carrying promises and lies.

A worm is laughing 
at the complicated preparations
demanding its patience 
but knowing it will be fed. 

The dust of a thousand years
fills the nostrils 
as they try to decipher 
the lacunae of its meaning. 

In the end nothing 
except  the flesh 
made uglier 
and more deformed. 
Millennia of pages 
to meticulously leaf through
looking for a moment 
that isn't wasted time. 

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250722A
------------

The shocked flies 
you swatted at
leaving them mangled 
lame and limbless. 

They crawl for you
in spasm jerk moves
twisted rearranged parts 
senselessly contorting.   

It becomes a dance 
invocation of St. Vitus 
wild eyed confusion 
between liquid and loaf.  

The fly does not care 
piss, vinegar or wine
caught up as it is
in a chemical euphoria.

They spill themselves 
out into worlds of decay
trying to clean up 
various bits of history.  

You accuse them 
concerning the war 
they cannot win 
and of breaching the peace. 

They reveal nothing 
but the simple fact 
that they are good soldiers
dying for their cause. 

A cause they don't know
and cannot contemplate
frees them completely
to a perfect faith. 

One stumbles blindly 
in the last vapours 
down an emptied bottle 
dead drunk to bottom. 

It is much the same 
in a span of alleyways
where what happens 
remains unspeakable. 

The same feeling 
that we will never get out
from violently pushing 
faces against glass. 

Each up against our own
and never free of it
going around until
we chance to drop off. 

We recall being urged 
to having the same faith
that every  fly demonstrates
but we fall entirely short. 

Not one of us as faithful
as the ordinary fly 
yet both feeding the same
off the same death. 

----------------------- 

250722B
-----------

Nowhere to go 
and we are going there 
for the sake of nothing
other than our restlessness.

Whatever we once did
has been made unpopular 
so we do what we do 
in secret ways and places.

We want to pretend 
that everything matters 
but the come-ons we get 
prove emptied of purpose.

A childish optimism 
tells me I might meet you
if I wander around 
in public ways and spaces. 

The same mistake
twenty five years ago
and years before that 
along with ever since. 

I can't even meet you 
in dispensed portions of dream
due to not having 
that much freedom. 

It is a ridiculous habit 
that I cannot seem to stop
even after the facts
that ended my last belief. 

I don't know you 
and I assure you 
we were never introduced 
and we never actually met. 

That seems important 
so we can avoid recollecting
faded histories of was no more
that losing all significance. 

The city is shoddy replays
of hastily repainted scenes
making it difficult 
to recognize anything. 

I am one of the ghosts 
looking in from outside
only to see nothing 
I wanted to see. 

I was always waiting 
for a signal from you 
that I could feel certain 
was not from the heavens. 

I was waiting for a gesture 
that I could know to be true
to break a spell of waiting 
that is too much forever. 


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260722A 
------------ 

Thrown out 
no matter the reason 
or the lack of reasons 
is thrown away. 

The forced out 
and the gone away 
that won't be back 
made thus disposed. 

How dispositions change
never for the better 
but always with far more
sense of finality. 

An identical process 
to the discarding 
of no longer valued
and of no longer needed. 

Things we once thought 
felt needed 
but someone took the need 
leaving everything else. 

The shock troops 
that dispose and dispossess 
lurk around dark corners 
emptying it all out. 

Nothing ever put back in
where they carve away
at the next victim roast 
slicing down to bones. 

What is eaten away at 
your own vain dreaming 
something fixed up
that never really is. 

Much more to be learned
from garbage pits 
than from sacred objects 
in any archaeology of lives. 

You always look forward
but your assassin comes
inevitably from behind
playing at shadows. 

Those child games 
meaning to enthrall you 
promised real chance
where there were none. 

Your statue of soggy bread
stands faceless in a bog 
made up of every version 
that chanced for or against. 

The story appears noted
in anonymous graffiti 
for everyone to own 
even if it is mostly untrue. 

You will never know
and it makes no difference
if you did or didn't 
except to your own soul. 

If you could find your soul
where you misplaced it 
somewhere between a church
and life's casino. 

Perhaps nothing better 
and perhaps something worse
but it was never yours 
to actually decide. 

----------------------    

270722A
------------ 

They all always want
what they do not have
so the imperfect of them 
always want for perfection. 

They look at the pieces
and they want every piece 
that they have not got 
in envy of efficient machines. 

“It works” they exclaim
jubilant at how it differs 
from their own failed parts 
seized up and corroded.

They break it off from any 
if they can spot the flaw lines 
where the materials fall short
from ideal specifications. 

Your quality certificate 
expired and was rescinded 
but you continued to labour 
in a belief that someone cares. 

They say it is for the best 
not to believe such things 
as are said or done 
by those less than fully able. 

The devil into any process 
is its crippling weaknesses 
where it grinds to a halt 
ruining the entire batch. 

Broken link in the chain 
and a team's only fumble
tagged with rejections
as a bad piece of work. 

Strength is from above 
as long as it holds you down
to new ways of culling 
the weak from the herd. 

Wrestlers the foundation 
of what passes as truth
about top and bottom
in any battle of wits. 

Good ends on top 
and evil rests below 
remains the standard 
as to being raised up. 

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