~
from the anthology of the unwritten,
from the tombs of the stillborn,
where carcasses of idled titles and orphaned stanzas
do not compete for proof of life,
and
nameless birth certificates unissued,
yellowing and wasting midst
crumbling aleph bet spawn
here
comes a poem of concession
comes a poem of summation
of a life lived, knotted poorly, not well,
worse cursed as vanilla inadequate
the satisfaction in the writing,
the gleeful breaking of the sac,
the gushing relief giving way to
the childbirth of a new moon-poem,
arrested, wrested
a single plague affliction,
the cancer of weakness,
means Pharaoh wins
the cancer of weakness
no cure, no pharmaceutical poultice,
spreads insidious; one day - pain in the remote,
your big toe, then
next you can only street stagger
begging forgiveness and the kindness of strangers
hoping for the accidental cure of touch,
the miscellany lottery ticket probability of low chance
the visible mark you leave,
a weak indentation upon a pillow,
it is the dented head, cut deep by the shadow,
shake it out and you're a disappeared one,
nothing to show,
did someone once sleep here?
you were once upon a time
binary
a 1
now a 0 -
flip flop bottom top,
listening to Frank's "That's Life"^
my litany too long;
woeful work this business of flailing,
posting a tired-out self help love poem
ain't no cure for the falling-out-of-love
black and blue, self-inflicted bruising blues,
the wrists ache
the bones don't freak
but squeal, somebody's squeezing me
the alarm clock, a death knell,
everyone saying don't worry
you got a proven record,
the boss's eyes twinkling
"but what have you done for me lately?"
funny
Death says
Hey, aren't you the boss?
Who shall over rule thy Dominion?
What have thy done to yourself lately?
Answer: never end a poem with a question mark @
3:06am
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 3:16 AM UTC
~
from the anthology of the unwritten,
from the tombs of the stillborn,
where carcasses of idled titles and orphaned stanzas
do not compete for proof of life,
and
nameless birth certificates unissued,
yellowing and wasting midst
crumbling aleph bet spawn
here
comes a poem of concession
comes a poem of summation
of a life lived, knotted poorly, not well,
worse cursed as vanilla inadequate
the satisfaction in the writing,
the gleeful breaking of the sac,
the gushing relief giving way to
the childbirth of a new moon-poem,
arrested, wrested
a single plague affliction,
the cancer of weakness,
means Pharaoh wins
the cancer of weakness
no cure, no pharmaceutical poultice,
spreads insidious; one day - pain in the remote,
your big toe, then
next you can only street stagger
begging forgiveness and the kindness of strangers
hoping for the accidental cure of touch,
the miscellany lottery ticket probability of low chance
the visible mark you leave,
a weak indentation upon a pillow,
it is the dented head, cut deep by the shadow,
shake it out and you're a disappeared one,
nothing to show,
did someone once sleep here?
you were once upon a time
binary
a 1
now a 0 -
flip flop bottom top,
listening to Frank's "That's Life"^
my litany too long;
woeful work this business of flailing,
posting a tired-out self help love poem
ain't no cure for the falling-out-of-love
black and blue, self-inflicted bruising blues,
the wrists ache
the bones don't freak
but squeal, somebody's squeezing me
the alarm clock, a death knell,
everyone saying don't worry
you got a proven record,
the boss's eyes twinkling
"but what have you done for me lately?"
funny
Death says
Hey, aren't you the boss?
Who shall over rule thy Dominion?
What have thy done to yourself lately?
Answer: never end a poem with a question mark @
3:06am
^"I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate
A poet, a pawn and a king
I've been up and down and over and out
And I know one thing
Each time I find myself flat on my face
I pick myself up and get back in the race
That's life (that's life) I tell ya, I can't deny it
I thought of quitting, baby
But my heart just ain't gonna buy it
And if I didn't think it was worth one single try
I'd jump…"
A lyric from "That's Life", Frank Sinatra
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