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missanthrope Apr 19
it’s overcast in Depression Valley.
an overhang of overweight clouds,
condensing within the soft folds of the psyche,
blocking the sun;
blocking the prospect of better or beyond.

abnormally swollen and pregnant —
they should burst and hail any moment
but today they are dumb, stagnant.

the resident automaton,
he pushes on

makes plans, with buds
feeds ducks, with nuts
drinks in Beethoven sonatas from the page —
the late ones deliciously well-aged.

but it’s just so mountainous.
he wears a joyless countenance
he bears the hopeless knowledge:
there’s no climbing out from Depression Valley.

a dear friend gently asks:
why not, automaton, why?

why, why, why:
is there a why to weather?
there is no cause, no invent.

in Depression Valley
there is a moratorium
on explanation,
on expression

the surrounding mountains are frozen, lush.
gently, with ne’er a rush,
they fold him into their ridges.

he gradually becomes the weather, joins
the chorus of mutes, eternally  
cast over Depression Valley.
missanthrope Jan 7
A hallelujah for
classes with masks
I'm basking in
masked yawns,
masked frowns,
half-opened lips
dreaming of soda sips.
missanthrope Sep 2021
sitting here, with
elbows resting on each knee
chin resting on cupped palms
skull resting on clenched teeth
gaze restless on the page.

sitting here, without
interest, intent, or intensity

restive yet frozen
taking classes by the dozen.
missanthrope Sep 2021
when I think about you
and the wondrous bubbles in my life you blew
a pain springs
piercing through my throat; my eyes
tearing from the future goodbye

an anonymous pain
it has no name
no origin,
to the seat of my spine it pins  
with unbridled glee around it spins
twirling all its ageless sins.

the L word is a sick name
for this pain
for the intensity of my love
would be
no less than hating you with a passion
no less than torturing by the million.

when did I see you first
where will I see you last?

when did we first laugh together
who will you later laugh with? Better —
let go of my hand soon,
than to let me wonder and croon
when did you first take my hand?

after these pairings are exhausted
after all it has costed
I hope you know —
these tissues blow.
missanthrope Aug 2021
My footfalls, they
Were the could-care-less slaps
Of a housewife’s plastic slippers
Upon her unyielding hardwood floors
When she unwillingly gets up from the sofa
To open the door
For her ugly husband.
missanthrope Aug 2021
The masked runner’s breath
Is already circumcised fivefold.
But he will never get over the humiliation
Of wearing right on his mouth
A diaper
Of saliva, stale air, and swears.
missanthrope Aug 2021
give me some more
of that

i want some more
of that

you’re the best
i’ve ever had
you’re the best
i’ve ever rubbed on.

give me
every last drop
of yourself—
baby .
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