~
lost library books
and broken lunchbox thermos,
her childhood under a forgotten
leaf on a pond.
she's attracted to the sound
of the breeze through her hair,
inner-city birds recommending
she listen with her head underwater,
to experience it as a fish might.
this is inescapable.

blood roses in the snow,
her unemployed martyred
fingers in the factory.
the manufactured years go by
at a price too great to recover from.
for every flash of beauty,
there is a hint of anger; a dash of violence.
this is inescapable.

her sleep-flower recital
in a dew-swathed spring morning hospital,
some kind of faraway pink funeral for
dead trees and traffic lights.
treasure impaired clouds capture
an isolated moment in time.
perhaps several moments.
perhaps several parts of the same moment.
this is inescapable.
~

If wishes were prayer

Saturday, January 28, 2023
12:06 PM

let me go wry or right, let me
be as one you witnessed falling,

and for that breath, believed,
wishes work as wonders do,
with very little help from things
thought truer.

I think of you, reading words I write,
I thrill a little at the intimate point of wedom,
the thoughts I fit to words, and sent into the
other
state, to wait, and wait, and become too tiny
to make any change not made,

at the time, when we touched as words do,
and held the hope that words hold.

Being as an event, we be apart, we be all one.

And we cannot unbecome.
----------------------

Inner being, being in me, other than I,
guide me, today.

I am willing to be useful, I do not have an aim,
I hold no hope of fame and recognosis,
I live to become a memory, at best,
and less than a memory, eventually.

I lie if I deny the joy I take from any sign, I see
you, thinking whys atop wherefores and how comes,

sudden otherness
occuring in a wedom framed by grand imaginations,

a new form of governing mankind, a new reason
to be defensive…

earnestly contending for pride of place, top of the pile.
------------------------

My Saturday, as all my days are now,
a day of rest,
a day of being after growing old enough, not, too;
but plenty old enough,
to reason with war,
face on face, as if, war
and I were forces of the same sort.

Ideas, grand wads of thought threads, spun
from times last chances,
grabbed with all I have to hold, huggishly,
for comforting knowledge,

I am not alone in wishing prayers were left being,
answered on reception, now, then, left being
alright. Amen.
-----------

It is in the thousands, tens of thousands, even,
Even, everish, same old, same
balanced on the upright,
walking,
past any hope to become one of those, the greats,

not even a billion to one, the odds of me becoming,
by the time I survived, the odds were even worse,
not a chance.

I bet, I said, I bet I won,
my race already run, by now, you know,
the results are pending
review,
and then I died,
and the results were these remaining
lines you take in,
as though you heard me talking, and thought
you might
over hear and know, all the songs of us, are about you.

The most self-centered man I ever met, said
my therapist to me, as I spun dervishly on my point.
------------------

Lest locks look silver
Lest lips lose colour
At last I lead off life...
Alas! too late to live,
No loved ones left alive

Mind's a madhouse,
a maze most vile
Merciless Immortals
The gods up high
"Cruel, callous, capricious"
— laments the helpless lamb
Bereft of able body  
Bereft of able mind

The Highest Hive Hireling,
Now a wasted withering wether
While wailing willfully awaited
The howling hellhounds to end it

her sun spots bragged of
summers spent reckless
and her silver locks of
once box dyed glory.
her drooping skin bragged of
first kisses and a hundred men’s touch—
from her so-called “glory days.”
her plump figure bragged of
children bore and
lovers loved and
a thousand lives lived.
in this old age I deemed her ageless—
having lived more in one lifetime
than most could dream to do in four.

Even when
All is said and done,
And I have become
A guardian angel
Over my past self,
Even then,
I have failed.

Here's one, eight lines from go
go
go man
go

gotcha, johnny be good slood
on a legendary curse
into sec-secondcoming.com

justice, sir, I must say, I just ring the bell.

So look, if I was you,
as you know,
I am not, and when I say otherwise,
I mean

in we form,
as we agree, we be, of one mind
some
times.