I am a Taken Poet ~ “The Wreckage of Your Silent Reverie”^
<6:45 AM Sat June 3>
again and again, a peculiar lyric
more than provokes, ****** injects,
no mere head buzzing, sledgehammer
beheaded, no under skin, in my pores,
shedding,reabsorbed, replaying the replay,
until I, will-less, commanded endlessly,
induced, besplay my irritants into my
“take,” for I am an overtaken poet, searching relief
too well, the wreckage refuse of these
silent reveries consume us, and I shriek,
contemplating the years of holey falling,
not hours or days, not weeks or months,
spent in rigorous dreams, facing & escaping,
my guilts, my fork failures, bottling & pouring,
with no relief from screams, head-banging,
nightmare visitations and inarticulate moans
until they form words, projectile ejected,
pollutants upon a clean, white background,
and dispatched to the heavens or nether land,
and to you, here in poem form that brings but a
modicum crumb of relief that empties, buying
time, knowing full well, my cup runneth over and
fresh replacement troops are eager, readily available,
by joining the seesaw border war, splitting my halves
my halves for I am not whole, I am deboned,
and slices fall off of these trough of words,
these statements of fact & fission, uninformed forms,
even worse, formed formlessness reciting repetitive,
inescapable escapades, dead-ended hell highways,
these poems, all carcasses of me, roadside **** until,
someone unseen, unknown invisible, removes them
to the largest refuse pile in world, a inutile poem heap
even this epistolary of diary entries offered down for
your bemusement, my expulsionary relief, give but
the briefest analgesic, and a newest version of an oldest
reverie, old friend, comes like the unending beeping,
of a dying battery of a fire alarm, squeaking, unrelenting,
unresponsive to curses or begging till the last ounce
of its energy is consumed, so too I, impatient squeak words,
too many contemptuously familiar yet well hid in new combos,
temporarily pulled from the wreckage of my silent reverie
~~~~~~~~~~~~<7:45 AM>~~~~~~~~~~~~
^ “Oh this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees
In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
***You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie***
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here”
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Sarah Mclachlan
Jun 3, 2023
Jun 3, 2023 at 8:00 AM UTC
I am a Taken Poet ~ “The Wreckage of Your Silent Reverie”^
<6:45 AM Sat June 3>
again and again, a peculiar lyric
more than provokes, ****** injects,
no mere head buzzing, sledgehammer
beheaded, no under skin, in my pores,
shedding,reabsorbed, replaying the replay,
until I, will-less, commanded endlessly,
induced, besplay my irritants into my
“take,” for I am an overtaken poet, searching relief
too well, the wreckage refuse of these
silent reveries consume us, and I shriek,
contemplating the years of holey falling,
not hours or days, not weeks or months,
spent in rigorous dreams, facing & escaping,
my guilts, my fork failures, bottling & pouring,
with no relief from screams, head-banging,
nightmare visitations and inarticulate moans
until they form words, projectile ejected,
pollutants upon a clean, white background,
and dispatched to the heavens or nether land,
and to you, here in poem form that brings but a
modicum crumb of relief that empties, buying
time, knowing full well, my cup runneth over and
fresh replacement troops are eager, readily available,
by joining the seesaw border war, splitting my halves
my halves for I am not whole, I am deboned,
and slices fall off of these trough of words,
these statements of fact & fission, uninformed forms,
even worse, formed formlessness reciting repetitive,
inescapable escapades, dead-ended hell highways,
these poems, all carcasses of me, roadside **** until,
someone unseen, unknown invisible, removes them
to the largest refuse pile in world, a inutile poem heap
even this epistolary of diary entries offered down for
your bemusement, my expulsionary relief, give but
the briefest analgesic, and a newest version of an oldest
reverie, old friend, comes like the unending beeping,
of a dying battery of a fire alarm, squeaking, unrelenting,
unresponsive to curses or begging till the last ounce
of its energy is consumed, so too I, impatient squeak words,
too many contemptuously familiar yet well hid in new combos,
temporarily pulled from the wreckage of my silent reverie
~~~~~~~~~~~~<7:45 AM>~~~~~~~~~~~~
^ “Oh this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees
In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
***You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie***
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here”
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Sarah Mclachlan
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