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Nat Lipstadt Nov 2023
preternatural ordinatty, beyond what is normal or natural,
when the ordinary is suspended, and my river me~wanders
between profound and mundane, tween hell and tomorrow

and miracles are shrines to make believe

the break-fast poem comes in threads of grayest cobwebs,
days are necklaces of obsidian stones, hanging heavily on neck,
head bowed, weighty matters, disasters unfolding and
sins of omission, commission block your throated gorge,
sallowing swallowing freedom waters can’t flow,
trickle~stuck in between a cascaded
motionless, collection of bouldered words

and why should
you care, it’s ok, no obligation and
depart at your own free will,

but I’ll still be here, introspecting, introspectating,
observing my hands and my lifelines that cross~twisted,
me~wondering like the river of rêves & reefs & thoughts
of all that I have done,
& not done,
and
both lists guilt-choke me, too many failures,


I recall writing
eight years and one half years ago,
all the sad words start with D
and still do, still so,
preternatural
ordinatty


(The preternatural that which appears outside or beside,“suspended between the mundane and the miraculous".  In the early modern period, the term was used by scientists to refer to abnormalities and strange phenomena of various kinds that seemed to depart from the norms of nature.)
All Sad Words Start with D

deep in the pond of unhappy, swimming,
drowning the next contemporaneous
depression thought quickly swallowed,
desperation in quick glances everywhere,
dawn is no consolation but just another
daily drawing tighter of twine cutting
disillusionment


dear god, commences every thought,
delayed answers have yet to arrive,
**** the deity's non-responsivness,
dare not say out loud lest,
deserved fates be worse, be realized,
didn't know? how can that be?
disguiser par excellent, I am the original
deceiver

But I never think about

death or dying, for that would be
defeat finale, a statute to, a status of none, a
destiny some wick spark, still insists can be
deferred

differed always,
diffidently, but grasping yet at the
double entendre that is my
dark vision of a future already past

May 2015

— The End —