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co'brien May 2019
a city plain enough
for all the world to see
though round the edges rough
it always seems to be

as half the city sleeps
long past alluring Dusk
lonely screams creep
from eventual husks

sirens blare
while i grow pale
and cast a prayer
to no avail

a city plain enough
asleep at thirty to three
missing finer stuff
to keep me company

laying there, wide awake
the night not quiet yet
i shut my eyes for my own sake
and wait for silence to set

i hear ambulances convene
on the parking lot below
whisk away a pallid teen
without her soul in tow

my mind is forever *****
as a war-torn sieve—
i could never forget two-thirty
not for as long as i live
co'brien May 2019
i wish i could take flight as the plover
rather than flail and fight ‘till it’s over
wading through endless swamps of mire
waiting until i discard my ire
fading faster than last summer’s clover

i wish i could sing as the songbird sings
maybe tell the tale of beautiful things
cut through the skylight chains
strut about the windowpanes
but i haven’t any wings
co'brien May 2019
in my house there’s a restroom
it has a toilet, a tub, a mirror, a sink
it has two perfectly fine lights
but I am enamored by how the light from my phone
bounces in then out of the sink

then that mirror, what a sight
whose hair is that, curled and untidy
whose brow is that, furrowed and staring
at what?
my head is cocked, I must be confused
and so I keep on staring

my gaze falls to the not dry sink
droplets of water arranged in a spiral
pointing towards the drain
they must’ve been placed there by
some maniacal artist
such a thirsty drain

though photons there bounce about
showing me myself
I think I’d rather
live a little? maybe I’ll just fade away
be swallowed by a drain, and sink
into void—this I’d rather

yet here I stay
co'brien Mar 2020
we’re all looking for pleasure
can you tell us where it is?
just need a bit of leisure
to distract my mind for a bit
give me something to measure
enchant my eyes for a while
i’m not looking for treasure
just a breather, just a sign

you know we’re not opponents
can you tell me why I’m yours?
let me drink in these moments
things i know i’ll never have
i never could do romance
i’d have too far down to fall
can’t we fall into a trance
maybe live a little more?

i just want you to smile
can you do that for me now?
i can’t hold onto my words
things that fate would not allow
you know that i can’t draw near
i wish i could tell you how
my mind grows restless waiting
for the day you let me out
co'brien Dec 2019
Speak to the muses blamed for your bruises—
They might say something yet.
Forget that the news is staring right through this—
Their blades with blood are wet.
You know you and I, we peer through the sky—
Feeling for fates unset.
Even though they lie about where or why—
I knew I’d ne’er forget.
co'brien May 2019
striving, searching

meaning everywhere to behold
in a world hardly days old

diving, lurching

in a drowning sea of possibility
each drip a different plea

defending, upending

small bottles of water
preparing for the great slaughter

sending, contending

“mine is best!” i cry
and why?
co'brien May 2019
tell me, gatsby—I know thee well—
what fate of ours do the stars foretell?
fantasy and reality—wherein do we lie,
thus deceived by passion’s sigh?

oh—but you’ve told me before,
what the world has in store
for those like us who live content
with fancied ideals set in cement

that cursed or blessèd day
when you faded far away
falling further in a pool
while i sat here on a stool

alone and by myself
sequestered on a shelf
stored for someone else to see
my wretched tale of misery
co'brien May 2019
a shifting point of view
gives rise to something new:
an old hat cast

and even though I’m gone,
the world will move on
and so will you
co'brien Jun 2019
im not your antonym—
a double negative
im not a flat rhythm
lacking an objective

and im not unstable
or merely unable
to connect the dots

its just that im
terrified of
misspelling
what it is we

are we just two
passersby who
shared a glance or
two and never
looked back at what
could become of

“us” is a pronoun
and we are sentenced
to silent eternity
a bit more cliché than i usually like to write but eh i guess it's okay
co'brien Nov 2019
i'm a fool
    with a camera
and i must stop
    and shoot
the rusted lattice i
    walked under

my friends
                                                           wait
patiently for me to finish

i aim and fire
    my photographic rifle
        and capture a luminous sun
co'brien May 2019
Let not our humble minds admit
That we are better than the rest;
Lest we ourselves our fates forfeit
To those who jeer and **** and jest.
Let not our thinking hearts believe
Love must belong to fools like them;
Such noble strains as hearts must grieve:
Second to none; none to condemn.
Let not our wills be resolute,
Never able to bend or change;
Pity the strength of duller brutes.
So trust in life’s sordid exchange:
Though we will fall and surely die,
We too, one day, shall live to sigh.
so it's iambic tetrameter, sue me
rue
co'brien Sep 2019
rue
you know our observatory minds
hide behind accusatory eyes
reading from statutory lines

stealing glances, stealing lies
borrowed for another time
projecting further our own demise

you know we live on borrowed time
little can ease our troubled minds
it’s hard to know where a feeling lies

in the attic or in vacant lines
i can’t look you in the eyes
it brings me pain: my own demise

but it seems you know the truth
that we’ve wandered in our youth
that these days we’ll come to rue
co'brien Jun 2019
I’m only a poet;
There’s nothing I know but
How to say what’s been said
Without a thought in my head.
I’m only a poet;
I know how to show what
We’ve seen, paint lies instead
Of novel truths unread.
I’m only a poet:
Hear the cry from my hut
Of this man who has bled
Tears borrowed from the dead.
co'brien May 2019
when all the rooms are dim,
when all the crowds have thinned,
when all the thoughts that brimmed
have been by shadows pinned
against pride’s swollen rim,

when a quiet song is playing
from a radio relaying
static voices always saying
that never were they portraying
a world of only hurraying,

amid soft singing and late voices
are we not held against our choices?
yet in this the poet rejoices:

his soul’s words are yet unspoken;
no two works share the same tokens
through history’s line unbroken.
co'brien Sep 2019
That all hath fall'n away impure;
That all we thought is now unsure—
This is the final cause of it,
That which we know has gone to ****—
Yet here we stay, throughout the days,
Staring into a foggy maze.

— The End —