Poems: 080721 - July 8th, 2021

260621A
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Whatever it was 
it was just a dream 
that you won't be living 
this time around. 

The only time around
but you can dream 
your next time around
will be different. 

We go in circles 
until they get broken 
and then we circle 
around the remains. 

The big wheels 
keep us turning 
dragged us along 
their circles. 

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070721A
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It isn't as it used to be
but then again 
it never really was. 

If there was a body 
it was decomposed 
in a forest of lies. 

The animals came 
and picked at the bones 
pretending high finance. 

Friday night spirits 
in frequented haunts 
practising going numb. 

Touched is a condition
no one wants to suffer
fearing touch and go. 

Could linger that way
for a long time 
trying to be useful. 

Passing the time 
in that endless line ups
at invisible doors. 

Never quite believing 
nothing opened up 
for the likes of you. 

No one wants that rot 
and says right on the label 
it is the wrong type. 

You could have been helped
by orthodontists 
and plastic surgeons. 

If you had ever known 
awakening to the alarm 
sounding in a deaf aid. 

It is good to remember 
things about famous people
and forget everyone else. 

Inflated childhood confidence 
becomes burst balloons 
of adult realities. 

Falling like a stone 
we never really were 
anything they said we were.

Shaken out of our tree 
and sent down the line 
to pressed and bottled. 

It ends at corked 
or perished 
in the continual ferment. 

The bottled up
rank almost as highly now
as do dead soldiers. 

All those pretty things 
life seemed to promise
end up too expensive. 

Your personal puzzles 
that can all be solved
if you have the money. 

Time is of the essence
but you cannot speed up
what you don't control. 

The whole mess redefined
as a process of growth
and hoping it is benign. 

Going from Teddy Bears
to Ted talks 
as the same run aways. 

We went on like that 
because we had to believe
in something. 

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080721A
------------ 

At the end of love 
we are all on one way streets
going in different directions
and it never works out. 

Works out
means only some gym rat 
in perpetual pointless motion
headed for a cold shower. 

If that is too extreme 
you can hide away somewhere
in any world of dead others
and continue to dream. 

You know she won't be there
but you keep going back 
night after night looking 
for what you never had. 

It is never really as if
you can really join anything 
that you wanted to join 
as if belonging elsewhere. 

You weren't the chosen 
but they made you believe 
that you still had a chance 
until you ran out of something.

It might be time or money
and it might be both
and then some more than that
that you ran out of. 

When you start to look 
at both sugar and salt 
being something dangerous
that lurks around at funerals. 

Never bothering to learn 
what a portion really is 
you try to tease and tantalize
your inner zombie. 

Something is eating your brain
and you neither remember 
nor are you remembered 
by anyone of significance. 

You were already buried
by friends you used to have 
and get sent on expeditions
exploring to try to find some. 

Knowing that you really should
throw it all out again 
and get everything new 
before anyone pays attention. 

Those days are all over 
and you have to run around
all over the social map 
trying to place yourself there. 

Your social diary 
reads like a Grimoire
containing all your demons
with no forwarding addresses. 

The words you used to use
have been robbed of meaning
and everything is as empty
as a stack of promissory notes. 

You can keep working at it
but it is not what you wanted 
to ever really have to do
as part of being disposed of. 

They do not let you near 
anything that you could be 
and could be passionate about
beyond some nostalgia. 

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080721B
----------- 

We are the disconnects 
from someone's crowd scene
full of extras 
that no one really wants. 

Going among gatherings 
being segregated and relegated
to those other subjects 
we don't want to talk about. 

Membership is an annual fee
that gives you a place on a list
of strangers' names and numbers
for administrative purposes. 

Eventually taking hints 
that we should not go anymore
and it isn't there for us 
the way we hoped it would be. 

We used to read all about it 
as to the openings 
advertised in the newspapers 
before the stampedes started. 

Now we are the trampled 
every time the herd makes a move
toward a slaughterhouse gate
where nothing comes out of it. 

Consider it lucky 
not being able 
to go all the way 
to being written off. 

We were buffaloed 
with empty sunshine promises 
hardly noticing the gold rush
never panned out. 

It was another Titanic mission
being tossed overboard 
at a usual sinking 
into wave pool seas. 

Interference patterns 
rippling across the brain 
as it tries to avoid pursuit 
by one or another Terminator. 

We invested in ourselves 
finding new ways to bankruptcy 
because everything we came to
was another sort of insider trade. 

We of the outer party 
never really got to know 
any of those of the inner party
and thus were never invited. 

Once you learn to drown yourself
the process is easier to take
trying to build your own lifeboats
from remnants of old anchors. 

Cut yourself loose 
from your shores 
but never go adrift 
into strange vague ideas. 

No point in coming home 
to someone you don't like 
and don't want to know 
so you live in isolation. 

As if you have a disease 
that someone else could catch
if they come too close 
lacking protective equipment. 

You go street side bubble 
through a foreign crowd
trying to avoid the stench
sex and death makes. 

Entire conversations occur 
that are built on those facts 
but only with the same people 
that you don't want to talk to. 

Your telescopic eyes 
are speaking volumes 
about being pinned down 
under enemy fire. 

You almost made it in
but failed to get out 
before the shit house blew
wrecking your memories. 

What to do next 
is the persistent dilemma 
and no one accountable 
to actually tell you that. 

So you roll yourself over
checking for vital signs 
as broken as a thunderstorm
on another aching day. 

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080721C
----------- 

It is the many 
that always deny the one
as if you can make love
with a crowd. 

Whatever it is 
that making love means 
to any of the sick 
or any of the healthy. 

Those who keep secrets 
are far too few 
and the others tied up  
with ropes and hair. 

They thought they were free
when they got permission
for shopping on Sundays 
between hot dogs and ice creams. 

Was headed out that way
but the way was closed 
by the tally man 
tallying up the accidents. 

The list of players 
taken off the playing board 
and then there are those
that get bumped off. 

It was a sort of blessing 
for which no one gives thanks
being sometimes given 
to the select few. 

No one really wants 
to ever go that high 
or to fall that low 
from a picnic basket. 

Sometimes I reminisce 
about the great picnics
of long ago yesterday 
and no more. 

Birthday balloons 
signalled to other planets 
as they disappeared 
past birds and airplanes. 

We sent out ships
that were never to return 
from unknown ports 
charting our future routes. 

They were as lost 
as we were to become 
in tangles of sentences 
trying to find meaning. 

I am still prone to wander
the tragic landscapes 
that reflect all the seasons 
of so many desires. 

It all goes past 
in that distance that comes
between forgotten names 
and a momentary notice. 

It is the secret meaning 
of those who were asked 
and those who were not 
on any of the guest lists. 

It all belonged to those
of the secret handshakes 
and it largely still does 
to those who belong. 

I never really belonged 
and I guess I never shall 
really belong anywhere 
after the try outs ended. 

I do not even go out 
to where talent scouts go 
because I don't play 
that sort of game. 

I know they are recruiting
pleasure machines 
for various boudoirs 
and bedrooms. 

I keep going over 
all of every left field 
where I might have lost
what I might have needed. 

That is not what I wanted
and I keep rejecting 
all of their programming 
in an effort to be free. 

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