a wall as metaphor fits the bill
to these thoughts ***** nil
a massive wall near six feet wide
covered with sharp stucco side
that ****** pierces the forehead skin
as heads bang in a continuous whim
for tell me what is a reality for
when breath and bone are felt no more

Saturday, October 19, 2013

a wall as metaphor fits the bill
to these thoughts ***** nil
a massive wall near six feet wide
covered with sharp stucco side
that ****** pierces the forehead skin
as heads bang in a continuous whim
for tell me what is a reality for
when breath and bone are felt no more

Saturday, October 19, 2013

the sky would burn and the sea would boil
as they paid the price for human toil
a spinning globe a pitch gray sky
could absorb our poisons indefinitely
so the earth as friend became our foe
with a scrum of chemistry and below
the mass of souls behind gilded screening
search every toy for a scrap of meaning

reality is re-constructed
from scratch
every 5 or 6 minutes or so
how many times have you
lost something
oh, carkeys, that screwdriver
that fell to the shadows
the printed report that was just in that ******* pile just a minute ago
those instances are only slight faux pa  ses
by the re-construction crews
that toil in every medium
to create authenticity

heard a gun shot at 2:51 am in the most quiet neighborhood in Vermont

listen, I cant tell her that

it is a very easy thing to steer in and out of her desires
as clear as a new paved highway
in the glare of my high beams
what of it

when young, I read Thoreau
the transcendentalists were but gone
by slightly over a century
disobedience was in style
we would all head toward the land
and live in the wood
soybeans simmering on the stove
as we headed toward a dream
the pull of the world
a force so very strong
as to last throughout the ages
interrupted our free fall
so when I would consult the mind of Walden
through his writings
there burned in me a sense of radicalism
to head to the forest, naked with poetry
I told myself I could not afford these steps
recognized that Thoreau’s considerations
were so true as to be dangerous
I set the sage aside
I am sure that sages expect that sort of behavior

soon after my 50th year in my personal limerick
I found myself looking at a summer morn…..

the gods and their stories

where as under neath the reality flows

a swirling un mass of possibilities

everything lies beneath everything else

there is sometime interferences

between the separate actualities

this reality, that reality, hardy har har har

the same questions would exist

Poe wrote of glory and grandeur of the antiques

they were a bunch of misfits