Poems: 281220 - December 28th, 2020

221220A
----------- 

The talk in my sleep 
slipping those words 
into my ear 
that aren't mine 
to say to you 
and aren't yours 
to say to me. 

Makes my disbelieve
in any of us 
having the say
in the cruel rough
of hard nights 
rending apart 
meat and bone. 

Sad soul
in any morning light 
having been taken 
a little more in
from any might 
have nearer 
to being free. 

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

221220B
------------ 

They don't want 
you to be 
anyone who is 
among the wanted 
not even 
on a wanted poster 
billboard ad 
heading the column
with a following 
of not much.

A shake up 
in the cold today 
of frozen lines 
spill out 
all those sides 
betrayals of facts
when something  
might have mattered
in warmer places
and kinder times. 

Someone pipes up 
they have orders
came straight down
from mysteries above
the common tease 
lies fools believe 
in endless talk about
the never true
melts down into
gone softened minds. 

Wrap up 
the entire scene
in a clay grey coat 
of purified dismal 
broken open 
day of the dead 
showers down
the sugar coated 
little tastes 
are never was 
and never will be. 

Knowing it 
will always hurt 
more each day 
while demanding 
the same  
being served 
regular dues 
in the shadows
vale of formality 
and its grim courtesies. 

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

231220A
------------ 

All Hallows 
blurs away 
into the bowels 
of Christmas 
made cheerless 
under renewals
of old and threats 
forever raised
ever up against 
a perpetual malice. 

Relentless infamy 
of executed acts
pushed hard into 
and up against
the drop dead 
scarred walls 
as lost battles 
along ghoul streets
of no offers
and no offerings.

I lose at me
and I know never 
finding you 
but what is between 
there and then 
of the never after 
dancing up another
ugly eye of storm
wears its shabby 
discard dreaming. 

Fantasize the lies
of being into 
something nice 
but you won't be 
into anything 
as you peel 
away the rind
from the pulp 
of what passed 
as a life. 

Forced to thinking
without feeling 
and trying to feel 
without thinking 
takes up the time 
as a new hobby 
requiring hours 
in diligent practice 
and there are few
who are good at it. 

They say 
the flattened out 
and pumped up 
can be somebody
at half a chance 
in among a legion
of the dead  
who are walking 
careful counts
of pavement squares. 

This week's invasion 
bombs residences
with literature 
depicting the usual
reward points 
and punishments 
under the conditions
of mass surrender 
raising white flags
of underwear. 

You are somewhere
hiding inside 
the snow globe world 
becoming shaken
with a sadness 
of sadder than ever 
waiting there 
under a cover of white
simulated melting 
sorts of love. 

And I have died 
to nearly everything 
in its failed promises 
of being more 
than alone again 
in hot pursuit 
of  another 
plastic grail
holding its secret
of modern happiness.

I used to go out
but it meant nothing 
to any future version
of the sound track 
running on
as it does
to the usual penance
of habitual acts 
pretending it all 
being alright. 

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

281220A
------------

Nothing really to say 
to anyone anymore 
as to anything known
in the talk about nothing 
special or in particular 
unending concerns 
in the stagnant climate 
of secret discontent
and depersonalized. 

Lacking glamour words 
is a new form of sin 
and I hardly know 
anything at all 
of the new languages 
in their disregard 
for vintage artifacts 
no matter the make 
or the aspect. 

The streets are drab
grey and forbidding 
bundled dread 
under a wind whistle 
seems to announce
social referees 
sorting the brawls out 
between bench penalties 
for failing to fight
whatever it was. 

Comes about hard
that you failed 
to hang the right people
from the right ropes 
in the right ways
at the right times 
so you were cut loose 
to drift toward forever 
filling your life boat 
with odds and ends. 

Any psychopath 
would know better
but you had to fail 
at every suggestion 
and at every clue 
that pierced your mind
in that iron maiden 
tight head lock  
until it was everyone 
avoiding the scars.   

It is all being kept 
entirely invisible 
keeping it out 
of see say passages
last legible bits 
the cracked up lines
fade of old stories 
weather erased
from aged hoarding 
along vacant sites. 

The cruellest trick
is no way back 
and no time forward 
so you sit 
sipping at nothing 
that can be done 
about any of it
and your mind 
remaining far off 
any of the maps. 

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

281220B
----------- 

I used to know people 
whom it was always said 
wrote interesting words 
but the words failed
to say anything.

There is the plowing 
of the same furrows 
the way a farmer plows 
lines of dead land
in preparation.

Words being planted 
in the decaying soils
of our histories
placed as dry sticks
marking graves. 

Trying to find 
that little dark secret 
that is one tiny seed 
of creation 
made to appear. 

We want magic 
and we find none 
in our twisted spells 
of arcane letters 
trying to mend holes. 

Sometimes I wish 
I could actually speak 
and in a manner 
that would please 
such a pretty face. 

My mouth stuffed full
of gun cotton 
and monstrous whispering  
comes cold steel 
spit of reality. 

Words have clawed 
at my face 
until I am afraid 
to gaze at you 
from broken windows. 

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A few word doodles passing grim times.