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 Jan 2017 Mike Essig
Nico Reznick
There are no right answers.
The sky rejects the birds, turns them
over to gravity,
embedding them in the concrete and dirt.
The grit refuses to become a pearl,
just as the wound refuses to heal
and the flesh eats itself.
The market sees a sudden spike in
sales of Champagne and cyanide.
Coordinated efforts seek and fail
to curtail the rising tide of violence
in the nation's dreaming.
You realise that this crude, barbaric language
that you can't understand
is your own.
Beauty glitches and pixelates.
Frightened, furtive confessions of love
are unheard over proud, visceral
proclamations of hate.
Tongues divorce mouths.
Every now and then, a voice
inside your head says,
'Thud.'
The measures of sanity become
more quantifiable and
totally arbitrary.
The horizon
tightens
like
a noose.

It doesn't matter if this is wrong.
There are no right answers.
Spoken Word Video: https://youtu.be/wGxRvuMWCig
 Jan 2017 Mike Essig
Nico Reznick
Never enough.
Never enough of anything.
It's always running low,
running out.
Money, energy, time.

The fuel gauge
threatens empty.
The bank balance
teeters and tips
into the red.
Almost out of smokes, and there's
one last shot
in the bottle.
The car tax expires
in two days.

You've been
exhausted
since forever.
You can't kid yourself
that you're young any more.
Clocks tick
just to **** with you.
It's dark, but
not as dark
as it gets.
More or less tongue-in-cheek.
 Jan 2017 Mike Essig
Nico Reznick
Not real people,
just characters,
defamiliarized,
playacting through
the stage dressing
of their
unconvincing, plywood
lives.
In one small spotlight,
one character
is deciding
not to call
the other character,
and a
second spotlight
picks out a
telephone
not ringing, and
the second character,
who could
call the first,
but doesn't.
Between them,
the few metres of
darkened stage
represent the cold,
separating sea, or
their emotional
estrangement, or
the shadowy uknowability of
the inner self, or
something.
They don't elicit sympathy,
these characters, only perhaps
an intellectual empathy,
critical and objective.
They are devices
by which we might learn
some abstract lesson about
the human condition.
They cry, or don't,
soliloquise about their fears,
their guilts and their woundings,
or are silent;
they damage each other,
themselves, and seem
incapable of learning
from pain.
But they are not
real people,
only symbols,
only the roles
they occupy:
Father,
Daughter.
It might be heartbreaking,
if it wasn't all so
far away.
Every piece of layer embedded
beneath the cracks...

Underneath, the surface of her soul
ached...
Ached for him to return back home,
Back home to her.

"Deployment" -JP
 Dec 2016 Mike Essig
Violet
Do not treat me like a princess
Though I enjoy the pretty things in life
And the joys that money can buy
I know that there is always a price to be paid

Do not treat me like a princess
I may read and write poetry in the morning
With Schubert playing in the background
But let me have a moment with my Scream Queens

Do not treat me like a princess
You may love me and think I am perfect
With all the grace and beauty in the world
But to love is to understand that perfection is a fa├žade

And the truest love of all
Is when you love me
Without my perfection
Something ugly grows within my blood
I know it's been there for some time
And though I know you've fed water to the seed,
it sprouted roots before you ever existed
or entered my mind

What are you feeding me?
Another pastel colored lie?
So faint, it fades into the sky
The same shade as the pavement on memory lane
I hold it in between each squiggle in my eye
and go insane
with time to die

The truth, it burns
It hurts
I can't stand that smell of bubbles on my flesh
as all my freedom's stripped away
and my voice fails to be expressed

I grow lumpy
and grey
as I wither away to nothing,
turn to dust
and just decay

Sometimes my worth gets lost along the hurtful words you say

Ha!
What a laugh.
Some rock you've been
I lost my mind
on the day I lost him
But ****,
it *****
because I lost you, too
You don't even care how much I've needed you

I'm drowning, and waving my arms in your face
But you watch as I splash and I struggle, in place
I keep turning blue,
I don't matter to you

This is too painful
I don't know what to do
******* idiots.
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