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community of concerned silence
submerged in beautiful bliss
security through pristine violence
indulging from the precipice
a legitimized and hopeful sphere
where nostalgia is taught
tribes of the disappeared
in collective coffin cot
dirge of docile disconnect
floating in the familiar flow
gleaming life failure effect
reflected from the calming glow
an emptiness we can't describe
with closed eyes and unmade calls
we yearn for a wider inside
even when sentience crawls

a pause in the extremities
the precompiled thought exchange
warm welcome obscenities
ransacked and rearranged
inconstant conversation
with the void of sudden stares
replaced with relaxation
and the comfort of the glare
delightful streams assault the skull
sterile, safe, and bright
depleted and desperately dull
swinging sea of peppered light
the inconvenience is self-installed
the underlying illusion undone
shrink down our huffing halls
the idle universe has won

the enemy is deep within
performance of a billion waves
swallowed smiles and sheared skin
how the happy hive behaves
the veil will protect you
from unintentional dismay
regret imprinted with the hue
of a shrouded gargled gray
surprise of the vibrating static
a pain we all outgrew
signals stuttering erratic
in the calm unending queue
the awkwardness we will away
while embracing tomorrow
we can't escape a single day
of scroll of want of follow

why would we even care to change
we live like leaking taps
neatly cubed nicely contained
clinging to the collapse
the greatest source of doubt
counts steadily in the wrong direction
abandoned from within without
the violent means of introspection
calm comfortable victimhood
moments for the self to shine
a debt distinctly understood
children of the copied divine
the grind has never been as grand
to constantly be seen and heard
the perfectly designed brand
the flashing the absurd

the algorithms all agree
with the incompleteness of your thoughts
what is not yours and cannot be
the gift that can't be bought
the law of things obtained and kept
protected by the shared veneer
in the screams of squares we slept
buoyant in unconscious fear
collectively brushed aside
wisdom warped and blurred
broken rhythms often denied
desynchronizing word for word
the norm and the exception
the youthful smile reign
the stabs of asking questions
in the murmuring mundane

a looming forest fire
roams nervously in the system
flooded in the mirror's ire
both perpetrator and victim
the limbed and headed machine
will do anything for a sensation
the chance of an ideal dream
a simple moment of elation
the monuments of the worst
uniquely ignored and neglected
simultaneously blessed and cursed
meaninglessness perfected
you are the cause of your exclusion
from the well of laughs and joy
you are the smirking intrusion
that our captors now employ

into the hollow depths
we parasites in paradise
preconceptions born in breaths
the humming art in artifice
this isn't how we pictured it
but even stars fall apart
leer in rooms temporarily lit
slump into a fresh new start
the product of the insurrection
ensured in acts of war
a humble impersonation
of the lies we’ve told before
inevitability in the present tense
we comfortably comply
the taste of innate inconsequence
under a slowly sinking sky

vast but empty spaces
surrounded by white walls
severely friendly faces
abundance of eyeballs
a perfect new cliché
wearing thinly concealed scenes
a planet full of time's decay
illuminated by our screens
another day rejected
through the blank pages we pursue
the banal and the expected
from the last crumbling few
the doomed attempt to disappear
not for a lack of trying
and so the final souvenir
is the hard work in dying
replacement of the rugged cross
cruel Aires morning fountain pen
not nearing what is truly lost
incomprehensible to men
you might have known the passion spent
if anything is close recalled
no curtain opened only rent
now tracing of the shroud is stalled
while my unlikely mind is wrapped
around the inconsistencies
of ancient echoed thunderclap
disturbing modern witnesses
who made this testimony mine
another hand, forgotten time
Krista said it well and then left me to tell the tale,
But the point was more elusive than these birds,
That swoop from out the sky of mind
to fall down some deep well.
Well,
The truth is hard to catch just right in words.

If I had half a twenty for all the times,
My words weren’t what I meant,
Or even less…?
Then all the meaning buried,
Beneath defaced US bills,
Would break my heart,
It’d be a ******* mess.

So, heads up poets, final warning,
The reader needs you now.
Best not **** it up, my friends,
And make to them this vow,

Please don’t preach,
And break no hearts,
Try not to show your ***.

Use plain speech,
Put away the thesaurus,
Let’s have a little class.

‘Cause out there words are spoken in vain,
In the smoky air they are forced to fill.
Talking heads make truth seem insane,
Finding meaning takes all of your will.

It’s hard to find the truth these days,
And even harder still…

When dangerous lies are sold as truth,
Common sense can sound absurd.
When empathy and integrity,
Are ranked in second and third…
Then the poet is needed more than ever.
The truth is hard to catch just right in words.
Here’s a clever poem about poetry-making…

If there’s one thing that I cannot abide, it’s clever ******* poems about poetry-making.  
They always feel like masturbatory exercises when we should be writing to capture the hearts and minds of people who don’t even like poetry.  Okay, rant off.
I do kind of like how the meter lends itself to some kind of rambling, Dylan-esque folksy, talking-blues format.

Hello Poetry poet Krista Dellefemine commented on one of my poems, “Loyal Hearts”, saying “The truth is hard to get just right in words”, which became a kind of a suggestion to be a poem in its own right.  I joked that I would do it and, hey, presto!  It only took five years to get around to it.  My inertia knows no bounds.
We are the poor.
We have no wealth.
Don't ask about our mental health
In fact walk past us.
Don't ask why
Just do not look us in the eye
Especially if you knew us before
When we wore socks and brushed our teeth
And hadn't given up and sank beneath
The awful maelstrom in our brain
Of fear, pain and damning shame.

We are the shadow people
But I see you,
And I know that you have shadows too.
Writing for someone
That’s not even there
Still add songs to her list
That I may never share
When she goes unresponsive
Not sure if she’s conscious
And lately
It feels like she’s fading
For good
I just want to reach out
But not sure if I should
For she wouldn’t
So comparably  
In me delight
Does not seemingly care
What I’m doing tonight
And despite all I’ve done for her
Leaves me in lurches
Just pondering plummets
From summits and perches
Desertion
Dissociates
Intimate friends
From potentially more
Than beginnings and ends
 Dec 2021 Krista Delle Femine
Em
This tomb is familiar to me,
A lifetime ago it meant a lot, you see.
Time weathered the edges,
The illegible text clings to the ledges,
Your name barely rings a bell,
The tide washed away your memory in the swell,
Thinking of you… wherever you are,
A distant dream that smells sweet from a far.
Sometimes One Needs A Personal God

The atheist soldier or sailor who, drowning,
Calling for mama, God or simple help,
Have mind-sets identical yelping for help.
Secular, temporal,
Pious and scriptural,  
Chemistry’s at the mysterious base,
Influenced neither by race or by grace.
The mind/brain’s the same when conditions are right,
The fact is that truth is the same, day or night.
Only the names are dissimilar.

Faith is a standpoint, dependent on hope,
Not on piety, dogma, nor doctrinal dope.
Everyone has wishes in one form or other;
Money or status, -isms or power.
Most neither useful nor lasting: a feather!

Faith is invisible, chemical: personal.
Often irrational but somehow functional.
No one knows how, why it works, but it does.
Therefore, it pays to have something to trust;
Something to go to when all’s a big bust.

Grown and mature, you see through illusions,
Knowing the platitudes, maxims and truisms.
Tired and seeing, you seek what is true:
Principles governing metamorphosis -
You’re seeking its purpose.
Change doesn’t fade.  No thing has ‘stayed’.
Sometimes one needs to believe in a God
That can house all of this.

Sometimes One Needs A Personal God 4.1.2019/re-composed 4.1.2021 To The Child Mystic II; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Circling Round Reality; Circling Rond Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin
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