I'm a troubled soul
Disability
Worried in the night
O Life! Protect my 3

No one important
I sense the cosmic sea
Un pequito Chicago snow
In Dublin meant to be

                    Quietly

“I look at you,” he told me, “and I think to myself; now here’s a guy whose got it all: he’s over fed, has a nice watch on his wrist and his shoes, although not my style, are brand new. The only thing he doesn’t have are troubles and worries.”

“bartender,” I shouted, “I’ll take one more and the tab.”

“hey man what about me,” he asked, “mind topping me off?”

“and another one for the poor sap next to me.”

“you see what I mean,” he continued. “you can afford to buy drinks for yourself and for others. as for myself, they forced me into a war I didn’t support and I also got my *** shot off for a cause unknown. I was stripped of my emotions, gutted from my life, they sodomized my psyche, carved the dream out of my head and I was never given a chance at having children or a future. and all this happened before I ever held a beer or tasted a cigarette or had a woman in my bed.”

I didn’t bother responding
in hopes that he’d get the hint
but as expected, he was as
clueless as my ex-wife
and as he carried on
with relentless persistency
each word dug in like a cat scratch
and all I could do was clench my glass tighter and tighter to contain myself.

“I’ve been spit on, kicked out, beat up and let down,” he further continued. “the streets are hard and unkind and everywhere you go you’re unwanted and everything is locked. why do you think I pour into these bars late at night? to drink? naw man, I just need a place to go, a roof over my head you know?”

that was it.
I had enough.

I finished my drink,
got off the stool
and headed toward the exit.

“hey buddy,” he shouted, “can I get another one for the road?”

“no.”

“just one more?”

“NO!” I screamed.

“c’mon man, you’ve got everything and I’ve got nothing. what makes you better than anyone else?”

“now look here you bumbling idiot…”

“but…but…but…” he interrupted.

“I’ve heard your tales of woe and now you’re going to listen to me,” I said sternly. “I look overfed because of poor diet and lack of exercise caused by working 60-80 hours a week with no time to take care of myself. I have a nice watch and new shoes but it came with a price. I’ve traded in my freedom for comfort, my time for materials and any chance of love for success. you say I have everything and you have nothing? I say you’re wrong. you’ve got something I no longer possess and that my friend is soul. don’t lose that. don’t buy into the mold. don’t conform. don’t become like everyone else. most of the people you see in here have imprisoned themselves into their own personal hell. that’s the way society wants it. but you’re free. truly free. and another thing… don’t worry about sorrow. everyone’s got problems and nobody wants to hear about it. why do you think people are in here? for the enjoyment? no, there here to forget. just. like. you.”

“******* *******! I don’t need a lecture from you or your cheap advice. all I need is a ******* drink!”

…and with that,
I walked out into the
dark and empty streets
where they greeted me
with their silence.

I arrived at six for an early start,
only to find that a cloud had coughed,

spat, or birthed a fog onto the lawn,
midwifed by polearms of corn

under silver doctor's eyes
of cooling car. Beer tabs snicked

away as a giant cheerful beast
slouched and stalked us

with candy heart and whetted tooth,
snapping at pipe smoke enemies,

patrolling our hands with hope.
Lives roll along, we all find:

men and women having a hard go
of it in hornet houses, or exes

who tent us with doubt even now.
The fog has burned away and the lawless

calligraphy of insects weaves and wreathes
the rising air into which exits are engraved.

Time enough to slide the highways
back into the busy hours

of porcelain hearts - easily chipped
but good enough still for daily use.

photographs of the dead
hammered into memory

flashes of imortalised moments
of all those who died young

as you get older and haunted
remembering to stay childlike.

You are sky and sea
beyond little me
You are inescapable
unable to be locked up
or corralled or expressed in mere words
words limit your being
yet they are what we have
for the time being
but we have music which is beyond mere words
we have light and dark
we have canvas and computers
but computers work with digits
ones and zeroes
in the sky in the ether
in infinite variety.

Infinite variety
that is who you are
always new
ageless angleless
It is what attracts me to you
you in your agelessness
I’ve always been fascinated with the new
that is one reason I’m drawn to you.
You are ever changing
yet religion speaks of your changelessness.
Why is that?

           Humans need patterns and habits,
           customs and values and norms
           to give them a sense of who they are.

          Yet what is fascinating about you is your changeability.
          You got it my boy.
          Thus the limits of religion.

𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝖎𝖙'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑.

𝕴𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖓'𝖙 𝖇𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑.

ᶦ ᵃᵐ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃ ᶜʰᶦˡᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᶦˢ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ.

          ł ₳₥ JɄ₴₮ ₱₳₮ⱧɆ₮ł₵.

          ł ₳₥ ₮ØØ ₱₳₮ⱧɆ₮ł₵ ₮Ø ฿Ɇ ⱤɆ₳Ⱡ.

ᶦ ᵃᵐ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃ ᵈᵃʸᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ.

ł ₴ɄⱤɆⱠɎ ₥Ʉ₴₮ ฿Ɇ.

𝕮𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖎𝖙'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑.

𝕴𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖓'𝖙 𝖇𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑.

           ᶦᶠ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᶦˢ ʳᵉᵃˡ—

T̷h̶e̷n̸ ̶j̵u̷s̷t̶    
                          S̷̙̫̿H̵̟͛̄Ö̷̧́̈͆O̷͍̟̓̇̐͗ͅ­T̵͖͐̀͊͂                
              S̶̨̥̮̼̜̜̞̻͐͋̉̋̆͊͛̊͘Ḩ̷̗͇̰̽Ö̴͇̰̻̘̭͉͈́͐͗̊͑̓Õ̵̞̂͛͌̃̚­̝̝T̶̟̎          S̶̨̪̞̹̰͂̓͆́͜Ḥ̵͕̈Ȯ̶͎̳̲͔̼̼͠O̴̭̹̅̒Ț̴͕̜̈́͒̀̏̆́͠ ̸̢̪̉̅̃̑͠ ̸͖̬͌ ̷̮̰͈͓͌̂̋͜ ̸̠̬̪̻͖̠̼̏́̓̆̊͋͑ ̷̗͙̓͂͛̄̽̂͠ ̶̮͇̣̖̩͐͛́̑͝ ̵̛͍̱̗̃̎̑̕ ̵̠̩̰̅̑̄̏̊ ̴̻͇̜͈͉̓́̄ ̶̨͍̖͈̖̲̼̎ ̷̩̬̟͍̯̆̄ ̸͓̣̠̥̲̈́̀̿ ̴͓̰̤̈̏̑̄͒̐͛ ̸̘̲̘̼̰̜̱̐̈́͗̆̉͠ ̷̜̒̿͒̀ ̶̫̗͋̈́̆͒̕ ̸̙͚̳̣̮̈́̅̐͜ ̵͍̻̼̺̤͂̈́ ̷͚̫̞̬̻̤͝ ̴̬̙͓̊ͅ ̵̧͍̫̜̱̂̈́̐̏ͅ ̶̢̫̫͓̈́͒͑͗̽̽͒ ̴̛̰̱̞͆̀͛̋̓͝ ̵̹̗̓͋͊͊̂͌̃.


I̶f̷ ̷t̴h̸i̸s̴ ̷i̵s̶ ̴r̴e̴a̵l̶ ̶j̴u̴s̷t̵ ̷
           𝓜⃥̸𝓐⃥̸𝓚⃥̸𝓔⃥̸ 𝓜⃥̸𝓔⃥̸ 𝓓⃥̸𝓘⃥̸𝓢⃥̸𝓐⃥̸𝓟⃥̸𝓟⃥̸𝓔⃥̸𝓐⃥̸𝓡⃥̸

ᶦᶠ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶠᵃⁿᵗᵃˢʸ

ᶦᶠ ⁿᵒᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃ ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ

₮ⱧɆ₦ ł ₵₳₦ ₮ØⱠɆⱤ₳₮Ɇ ₳ ₥Ɇ₥ØⱤɎ.

          ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ.

                          ̶   ̶ ̶𝑵̶𝒐̶.̶

                   𝓝⃥̸𝓞⃥̸𝓣⃥̸.⃥̸

Reality.

It seems as though I live my life
Downstage right and closest to the footlights.
I need the warmth of those glowing bulbs
To thaw a sometimes frozen heart.

I’ve learned my lines and know the scenes
But the blocking still confuses me
And I’m not sure which way I turn
To delver my soliloquy.

I know this drama has four acts
But this is intermission
And I’m waiting for the lights to dim
And call the audience back inside
To watch until the final curtain.
     ljm