simulacra and simulation
the performance and the stage
as we jump from platform to platform
seeking connection
authenticity
genuineness
briefly, we bask in such light
before the masses arrive
and change the economics
that makes fakeness profitable.
With each new cycle
the jading creeps in
latching like a limpet
thus no matter the waves
we poison each new sea
in this beautiful theatre
sinking reality

There's me
And everything else
There's inside
And outside
And just a small thin layer
Keeping it all separate
Except, perhaps
The layer is made up
And we are all made up
As these words float up
As your feelings grow up
And this dust does not settle
Is this cheap or a petal, instead
Can you afford to consider it
The thought, not the flower
I mean. Though I suppose
Both are as beautiful
As they are expensive
When you really
Wrap your head
In deep.

It was a year
Not unlike the rest
A particular burden
Saddened by a test
One could be tired
Or demoralized
Or about to give up
One could glow, instead
And step up
That small ladder
Which is only rather
Symbolic, but reminds
Of the gain
That each new day brings
As one then looks back
At all the small days
That made this year
In the end
Not unlike the rest

The superficial
Versus the intent
To cruise comfortably
Or feel the dents
To float above
Or dig deep
To be detached
Or love to see
To skip some parts
Or intently be
To quickly scan
Or needlessly focus
For all that there is
There is more if you want
And the want can be wanted
Deep down as a seed

Oh to drive that road again
slowly back home,
after that (ful)filling sob
at the parking of the clinic,
when God said no.

Myself, but different;
everything else the same.
Just slower,
like the wrong setting was on,
and nothing could be done.

And she carries the plastic bag,
and he rides the scooter,
they can't wait to cross the street,
others can't wait to leave it,
but the bus isn't there yet,
just me.

Can I placebo my way
Into spontaneous pleasure
And nocebo my way
Out of random pain
If all that it takes
Is just my sharp focus
And a big old superstitious
Pray?

O save me from unnecessary
Lessons
Lest I gain perspective,
And never again try to show me
That it's only me;
Neither younger nor older,
Standing tall every new day.

The little foam of my beer
ever so gently sizzles.
Its softness reminds me
of skins I used to brush
ever so slightly
with the tips
of my fingers
on past nights.

Not even this
amber bitter beauty
can dare rival your
own bitter moans,
as I remembered
they'd be over
before we even
got it on.

It was never really
the same;
both that first sip,
and that first kiss.
It doesn't matter.
all that was given
was fully received.
The aftertaste lingers,
then fades away.
Otherwise it wouldn't be
the same.