#discombobulation
Blank faces in the midst of beautiful sounds,
A thousand unread emails, eyeballs glued to the screen,
A pirouette daze, ghosting on fleck,
Giving it that bespoke hipster cred,
Entangled, encrypted, salty speech,
I cry to my social feed, a more vapid abyss,
A mirror profoundly remiss in its connection to this,
I'm hearing only myself tearing through a mist,
No heart, no conscience,
Just rage feeding, hashtags and memory lags,
An afterimage mangled by algorithms.
A fractured life sold in parts,
Apr 20, 2025
Apr 20, 2025 at 5:35 PM UTC
Aye pride myself
being sui generis
verb hose subject for a zoologist,
cuz webbed phalanges
branch handsomely
from mine feet and wrist,
where perforce great expectations,
asper the next greatest (I SCREAM)
scoop of the month intimated,
conducted under top secret
controlled laboratory conditions
with yours truly (as the de facto
par excellence)
rodent named "Oliver twist"
Lady Dedlock key ping
watchful eye within bleak house,
while Thomas Gradgrind
feigns tubby bad company
during these hard times
temporarily all quietest
lull on the western front
since Donald Trump
detente foretold by a palmist,
whereby said President
of the United States
feeling as an optimist
met with Kim Jong-un,
(cautiously side stepping morass,
viz hit blind side dare devil hoodwinking,
via awe shucks faux bully)
suspending noninterventionist
impact unexpectedly witnessed leader
of North Korea as multilateralist
on historic June 12, 2018,
summit minus linguist,
where fist pumping in Singapore
for unilateral negotiations
offloading nationalism
weighing down
figurative chest i.e. kist
by resplendent sun, where ma lounze
sotto voce, somber solemnly
sober ensemble re: joist
uniting this stately isolationist,
whose approximate
ten stone heft easy to hoist
merely sustains purposelessness
this poem without a gist
hence if Yukon spare one
(or more cruxes) lemme be fist
in line, though first, aye
would need to convince thee
this scribe doth exist!
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 3:12 AM UTC
Has the sun set on our time together?
Has it broken up our spirits?
Was it those peeping Tom's that cracked our floor
and made us fall through?
If every waking moment was spent on finding your lost list of treasures
And every day was spent trying to recover the lost souls of the past
The world would have a shadow lifted off its face
Like a purple-dyed draped curtain being pulled off at the rails
If humans could see the measure of their worth,
Before destroying what they had built,
Perhaps the sun would...
Perhaps the sun would lift a little higher
Perhaps the sun would shine a little brighter
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 12:11 PM UTC