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 May 2021 Johnnyqu33r
Leone Lamp
I had my happy coloured marbles,
All in a drawstring bag
I even had my wits about me
When they all said I was mad

I've since lost my marbles,
My wit's been licked it seems
I'm still searching for them
While you analyze my dreams

Now they call me mellow yellow
Since that slick spark has dimmed
No longer a manic madman
Calmed by my tonic and gin

Why does there always seem to be
An exchange, creativity for conformity
A need for insanity to be confined to brevity
And quickly quelled by righteous authority?
Just another lost psychonaut reminiscing about brief departures into madness...

`~05/10/2021
I lost myself among the frozen stars
   in the dark palette of a cold midnight.
   Nowhere left to go I came by your door
   for old times and knocked. You were gone.
   You were never here. Pretend marriage.
   Me with a wife and 2 young kids and mad
   as a hatter I fell down the rabbit hole
   where we played house and thought we
   were in love. We were burned by lust
   and divorced and last time I saw you
   **** in your dorm and me leaving for
   Boston next day. We killed a 12 pack
   and pretended one last time at love
   and I went away and lived my life as
   best I could you always on my mind
   but knowing better. I came home to
   see my kids and came by to see you.
   I lost myself among the frozen stars
   in the dark palette of a cold midnight.
   Nowhere left to go I came to your grave
   whispering your name as a prayer.
Just be my breath and heartbeat for a start.
   Be the stories that made me fiercely weep.
   Every lust that ever brought me to an end,
   the absolute to my doubt, strength to my fear.
   Be my broken vows and promises forgiven.
   Be my gentle ending when my end is here.
 May 2021 Johnnyqu33r
ghost man
what a bore, to be corporeal

i want to be lonely in the way
that stars are lonely -
bright and purposeful in their distance.
i want to have beautiful isolation
the kind that people paint
and take pictures of.

i want to be any poem
that is not my own.

this poem? *****.

in short,
this time is wasted.
it is breathless and dim
and it dies
without audience -

my loneliness cannot have audience
because, then, it would simply not be.

stars are millions of miles off
and yet are still visible,
still spotted with a camera on a hill
while two photographers hold hands.

if you are close enough to take
a picture of me,
it is implied that
perhaps i am not as alone
as i thought i was.

and perhaps you
should get out of my house.

ephemerality is derivative.

i’d rather live forever
with beautiful pain
than for approximately
twenty three more years
with whatever the hell this is.
more like corBOREal
Silence where words would be,
ignorance where understanding should be,
apathy where love could be.
Hardest words to say, need to be said the most
 May 2021 Johnnyqu33r
JDK
Some people are beautifully abstract movies:
enlightened visions of an idea come to life through cryptic scripting and inspired cinematography.
Slow burns full of brilliant dialogue that leave you thinking about them long after you've seen their open endings.
The kind that only the intelligentsia could ever truly appreciate, with a poor audience score but universally loved by critics.
The kind of movie with a cult following that comes up in late night conversations amongst hipsters sharing their opinions on the pieces of art that have made the biggest, longest lasting impacts on them.
The kind that takes hours of scrutiny and analyzation just to feel like you've arrived at some vague sense of what it all means.

And then there are people like me,
who are less like grand artistic visions of profound cinematography,
and more like reality tv.

The kind of thing a working suburban mother tunes into after a double at the local diner/supermarket/pharmacy counter.

The kind of non-committal, light-hearted viewing that never comes close to demanding your full attention. Just a myriad of characters brought together with a loose premise and slightly coerced tension.

The kind of thing you could have a conversation over, and walk away from and come back to, and still know what's going on, because it's just all so obvious - it never requires much thought.

The kind of show where the actors have every viewer convinced that they're something that they're not.
Sheeeesh!
i

remember privet road down in winton

those days after the war

the second world war that is


though it feels like folk are at war

always somewhere

maybe we should look after things

and our people


anyway there is a privet plant in the corner of the garden

down by the water pumping station


they want it cut and i want it tidy

so we comprise as i love the smell

of the small white flower come annually


i shall rake the leaves and have made a sign ready

privet corner

it is not a hedge like my grandma had

just a privet plant
Nature is incomprehensible to your sidewalk mind
Structures with no name are merely that to you
Wet ground is a fairytale to you
Not the sensation you feel taste and smell on a Sunday
Two eyes
    amber sighs
ensconcing empty black

In the blackness
    nothing lies
just myself reflected back

In those limpid
    maple pools
afloats an orb of nearly naught

I pull the thread to
    find the spool
and end up holding knots

Amongst the knots
    a shadow roams
and suffocates the light

Two honey domes
    without a comb
and endless naked night
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