Big issues fade in the face of beauty.

Seat a great philosopher, mathematician,
physicist, and theologian at a table.

Have a lovely, perfect 18-year-old girl
gracefully approach to take their orders.

I can tell you exactly what they are not thinking.

Big issues fade in the face of beauty.*

  ~mce

Far too late now
to die young.

  ~mce

I have read
the poem of your life
as I have lived
my own.

You are broken-hearted.
You are lonely.
You are defeated.
You are in despair.

So be it.

Embrace your pain.
Hold it close.
Surrender to it.

If you evade
your suffering,
you lose your chance
for joy.

Joy lives on
the other side
of suffering.

Wake up each day
and soldier on.

Show up for life.

That's all there is,
but it's a lot.

~mce

Eyes open to terror
in the algid morning.
Creeping matutinal
dementia; What
world is this?
Less recognizable
each silent morning.
Ghosts flit and fade.
Dawn's rosy fingers
clutch your throat.
So difficult to
rouse in this world
devoid of desire.
Why are there
no flamingoes?
What happened to
the exaltation
of singing birds?
Where have all
the women gone?
Each day a lesser
version of the last.
Each morning a tomb.
Be patient. Hope
the stones are rolled
away. Hope to emerge
into light. Life is
light; life uncertain;
the future not
what it used to be.
It is so hard
to wake up and
create creation
when you are
not a god.
Pretend divinity.
Pretense is where
old men go to die
and the only
way they manage
to live. Make coffee,
make images, make do.
Something or nothing
awaits.

  ~mce

I am a pirate
pacing a quarterdeck
before a battle.
I am Adam
beneath the apple tree
waiting to bite
into the New Order.
I am a hopeful heretic
praying for immolation
but unable
to strike a match.
I am a corpse
writing a will
in blood and *****.
I am a soldier
watching a friend
erupt in a fog
of pink viscera.
I am a madman
twitching on a couch,
forgotten in a corner
of a windowless chamber.
I am a hero
slaying griffins,
destroying dragons,
ravishing maidens
as my rightful reward.
I am a lover
to whom ladies
open their thighs
and abandon
their honor,
willingly.
I am a tone deaf poet
singing a defeated song.
I am the amateur torturer
carefully sharpening
his instruments,
but then unable to find
meaningful work.
I am a ****** priest
hearing my own
confession
and finding it
absurdly tedious.
I am all of these
impossible people.
Who are you?
  - mce

Stop craving things and people.
Assume that what will come will come.
Don't expect to be happy.
Watch where you put your feet.
Hope for good luck.
Try not to **** up too often.
Be prepared to die at any moment.
  - mce

~for Rimbaud

The same rules
you lived out
still apply:

Drink too much.
Take drugs.
Sleep with
too many women.
Drink too much.
Be irresponsible.
Squander
your money.
Drink too much.
Hurt those
who love you.
Drive them away.
Drink too much.
Overdose on silence.
Drown in solitude.
Drink too much.
Ignore consequences
Go quite mad.
Drink too much.

And then,
of course,
die young.
  - mce

He wants her
naked upon an altar
wreathed in roses
so he can worship
her in every way
a human man
can imagine.

~mce