We girls are idiots. Attention is our drug;
You could be killing us slowly and we will accept to die
As soon as you leave.

We're squeezed in a topsy-turvy
*****-ball world;
What's upside is down,
What's inside is out;
Your smile's a frown,
Your whisper's a shout,
And the flim-flam man
Just pitched a curve.
We're headed to second
After rounding third,
And first is stolen;
This game's absurd.
So, I gather up my bat and ball,
I've read the writing on the wall,
I've turned, running for home.
We've been tagged on bad calls.
We were safe, but now we're out,
Exiled, banished, conflicted, confused,
There's nothing good on the news.
The umps and refs have all been turned,
We've been benched,
We've been spurned.
Behind me,
Someone calls out,
     *Play Ball;

Our existence consists of a resistance to the persistent indifference,
The instinct without substance, consistent yet distant,
That will influence our adolescence, make us insistent and violent,
Until in an instant we will all become silent.

I sigh again, but it is as
Though you have become
Immune to the
Sounds of my discomfort

Indifferent to the tears
That soak my pillow
Late at night

Sliding effortlessly
Down the ridges and planes
Of my face
Draped in a thousand shades
Of sorrow
The shadows dancing
on my hollow cheeks.
Sunken and demure.

Your eyes stare in my direction
But my motions don't catch your eye
You prefer to ponder,
mesmerised,
by the faintest
Movement outside the window

Your brown eyes wide
And bathed in sunlight
The colour of honey
So distinct,
But lacking its sweetness

Follow the hustle and bustle
Of the Parisian streets,
As your hand lifts,
ever so slowly, from
resting on my shoulder,
Onto the ledge.

You've made up your mind.

~ZA

OK I will admit it
I guess I'm numb
I feel numb
numb ... numb's a good word
I feel nothing...
but I guess, if I feel numb
I guess I feel something
maybe I feel indifferent or indifference but there's no difference
I feel numb and that's OK because in this world we live in feeling numb is not so bad and I'm OK with it and I hope you're OK with it and I hope that you feel better knowing that I feel numb just like you and we can sit here or we can be blue but I'd rather be numb with you

Do truly only the good die young?

Or

Do we simply care not
       Nor notice
When the wicked
       And the hated
Pass away?

No matter their age,
       Who or what they left behind,
Or what they could have done,
       Who they could have been,
Who will miss the wicked youth
        Thinking them unchangeable
When they are gone?

...a diary of the falling dominoes chapter

invisibly dying from the inside out
no one is looking into unseen eyes
no one can hear a muted voice fading
no one is close enough to be near

the deafening thrums echo
anxieties’ racing heartbeat
within morphing flesh shell ,
gasping for new breath
in a hovering stale silence

from a distance
the broken mirror ricochets a subdued light ;
much closer the reflection reveals
someone I once knew by heart

now an unrecognizable mask
enshrouds a terminal emptiness
inconspicuous at a fleeting glance ,
impossible to discern what storms rage
from the inside out ,... unnoticed  

an uncontained wildfire
smoldering within,  lies in wait
for the imminent winds of change
to fan the flames into the final
eternal silent ashes

a poet reaches out demurely
offering a candid look
into the window
of the imperfect human soul

there is no poetry
met by indifference
just gathered unread words scribbled,

squandered time
dripped slowly on an empty page ;
moments turn into days
days turned into years

invisibly dying from the inside out
an unfinished life trickles out
like seeping blood evanescing
from a bottomless puncture
wounding ... penetrating the heart,
leaching out the slow death of a poet

for poetry is only words unless they touch someone ...

befallen to indifference is poetic death
by salted paper cuts ...

a muting suffocation
that hiddenly erodes away,
silencing the passion
of a musing soul
one unread word at a time ...


© harlon rivers ... all rights reserved

I’m small enough to cry for those with frozen teardrops
who can’t get up off the side of the road to die in peace
So I'll abide in this polar freezing cold silent deliverance
where a  hollow warmth  hides the tears that  aren't for
cryin’ alone

There’s a bitter arctic wind blows right through the tree trunks
there’s no shelter leaning on the dream of the leeward other side
This winter isolation grasps on impatient pieces of frayed light
like hope a mustard sized seed of shine may move venerable
mountain peaks

Who ever knows how long salvation lasts ? They said he died
sleeping on a cardboard  comforter and blue  plastic tarp duvet;
a holey old coat stained with all what went wrong in life …
And .., I feel a sickening guilt of a warming fire's thickening
smoke

The chimney’s icicles drip an angel’s frozen teardrops
But .., I can’t find no heaven in this big ol’ world ...


                                           *wild is the wind ... January 4th, 2017