#simulacrum - Hello Poetry

i haunting memories ooze from my pores condensing in the heavy atmosphere. wave after wave of ethereal static flashes behind my eyes pulling me above the serene rot & the percussive drumming of the downpour outside. spellbound in a dizzy trance i stare into the reflective looking glass waiting for the stranger in the mirror to blink first. ii sitting in a creaky rocking chair watching black-&-white russian films on a bulky, box, console television. the fork pronged, bunny-ear antenna and massive protruding knobs and buttons distract me, bathing in the salt-&-pepper static. i peer to the left. on the rusted windowsill on the other side, four empty glass bottles stand: two green, two clear - filling up with the buckets of pouring rain. outside, horses graze in the flooded marsh - their soaked manes falling flat against heavy necks lasso tied, with a noose fixed to fence posts. I pity yet envy their nylon-chained fate. in the fireplace embers of a coal fire flicker. ashy smoke dances with the dust suspended in the grey light cast by the CRT TV screen. an aggressive glow, haunting. iii braving eden on margate street reading... writing... painting... moving and existing through tinted layers. six shillings a week for the meek, begging to eat anointed fruit & man-made vegetables. swept up in a tornado of unaccustomed genius i sit singing. my blues bleeding into latin grooves moving me through the dissonance of frowning echoes. iv [front page] crisis after crisis, screams the black ink. **** it. another hundred-and-eighty dead. bombed for attending school - but the other news said brown girls don't even get to choose. someone's lying, or, more likely, I've lost my mind. > 2nd page I don't know who is worse.... Noem, or Noam ¿¿¿

0

Mar 11

Mar 11, 2026 at 6:55 PM UTC

Rob_Bruwer

schizophrenic news is normal in the times of fascistic hypereality

i haunting memories ooze from my pores condensing in the heavy atmosphere. wave after wave of ethereal static flashes behind my eyes pulling me above the serene rot & the percussive drumming of the downpour outside. spellbound in a dizzy trance i stare into the reflective looking glass waiting for the stranger in the mirror to blink first. ii sitting in a creaky rocking chair watching black-&-white russian films on a bulky, box, console television. the fork pronged, bunny-ear antenna and massive protruding knobs and buttons distract me, bathing in the salt-&-pepper static. i peer to the left. on the rusted windowsill on the other side, four empty glass bottles stand: two green, two clear - filling up with the buckets of pouring rain. outside, horses graze in the flooded marsh - their soaked manes falling flat against heavy necks lasso tied, with a noose fixed to fence posts. I pity yet envy their nylon-chained fate. in the fireplace embers of a coal fire flicker. ashy smoke dances with the dust suspended in the grey light cast by the CRT TV screen. an aggressive glow, haunting. iii braving eden on margate street reading... writing... painting... moving and existing through tinted layers. six shillings a week for the meek, begging to eat anointed fruit & man-made vegetables. swept up in a tornado of unaccustomed genius i sit singing. my blues bleeding into latin grooves moving me through the dissonance of frowning echoes. iv [front page] crisis after crisis, screams the black ink. **** it. another hundred-and-eighty dead. bombed for attending school - but the other news said brown girls don't even get to choose. someone's lying, or, more likely, I've lost my mind. > 2nd page I don't know who is worse.... Noem, or Noam ¿¿¿

65

Regret. I drank mine. Illness. I smoked it. Ill conceived & imitation. My mind bent & snapped in half. I can see your eye in every star. Watching while I enter chrysalis. What's it like hoping I rot? (will do) What's it like laughing looking at the past? Sober, I have to force myself to laugh. I can see your winking eye in every light. I can see your winking eye in every star light. ****

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Sep 15, 2019

Sep 15, 2019 at 12:48 AM UTC

Simillacrum

The Night Sky, A Simulacrum

Regret. I drank mine. Illness. I smoked it. Ill conceived & imitation. My mind bent & snapped in half. I can see your eye in every star. Watching while I enter chrysalis. What's it like hoping I rot? (will do) What's it like laughing looking at the past? Sober, I have to force myself to laugh. I can see your winking eye in every light. I can see your winking eye in every star light. ****

21

someone else? someone same? a person, still? a person, sane? dry me out critique is that which denies tangential arcs do you see me trying? if a meat will be a meat i will be wet as i can

0

Jul 5, 2019

Jul 5, 2019 at 6:48 PM UTC

Simillacrum

will rush

someone else? someone same? a person, still? a person, sane? dry me out critique is that which denies tangential arcs do you see me trying? if a meat will be a meat i will be wet as i can

15

Imprison the blaze for unlearning the ghost of our light to bow down before an interim simulacrum of the sham. You said, that the colours are so hurting; that this soundless shapelessness comforts you. I cannot extricate you. Cannot unleash from the unbreachable for I learned that this stasis is your only home.

0

Aug 5, 2017

Aug 5, 2017 at 6:42 AM UTC

diana-bosa-engler

Stasis

Imprison the blaze for unlearning the ghost of our light to bow down before an interim simulacrum of the sham. You said, that the colours are so hurting; that this soundless shapelessness comforts you. I cannot extricate you. Cannot unleash from the unbreachable for I learned that this stasis is your only home.

15