#usual
An ordinary day, just like every other,
But more ordinary than ordinary.
So usual
So basic
So common
I'd say.
The type of day
That barley worth remembering,
But when it does pop into your mind
It's a foggy day.
A blur of events mixed
Between hours,
A faint little memory
Flickering in and out of it.
Apr 8
Apr 8, 2026 at 7:44 PM UTC
I can feel every eye roll
And all I did was pour out what was left of my soul
Looks like I might be the only one to see it from that angle
Like it's painful
I brush it off and project as being humble
Really I'm only diminishing what makes me emotional
It's just standard business as usual
A series of unfortunate events themed carousel
The victim blaming has become so casual
That I somehow become the spectacle
Put a screen between us and then I bet they'd care though
Convinced themselves I'm some kind of animal
Chomping at the bit, waiting to say "I told you so"
Waiting for said moment from the get go
Was it always the plan to poke at the volcano?
The saying only mentions a bear, though the volcano makes it more...what's the word...I don't know, disasterful...
That's not a word but that's what came to mind cause the mind isn't always rational
Whatever, anyway, on a long enough timeline you're bound to get burnt, we're all flammable
A majority of us are expendable
Not essential even if dependable
Reluctantly invited to the annual shiit show
The HUD flashes on arrival
"WARNING WARNING, CONDITION CRITICAL!"
But we've been lied to before, for example
Take a look at religion and the political
What's actual?
What's factual?
And what's just another game by Hasbro?
What are you looking at me for? I don't fuuckin' know
Try tying it to a white flag and running it up the flagpole
©2024
Mar 2, 2024
Mar 2, 2024 at 7:18 PM UTC
It's true, I usually don't know what to do
What if I'm not around long enough to follow through?
Never know if my way or the highway is the right way
What did that sign say?
Will it be possible to recognize this impending last day
Even if just a day before it's referred to as "Ah shiit, is that today?"
This is foul,
Where do I go and what do I do now?
And just because I know what to do doesn't mean I'll comprehend the how
Who in their right mind could stand here and say they could handle the architecture and atmosphere of so many types of conflicting fear?
Who's the stranger with the black soul looking back at me in the mirror?
I wish it was clearer
But there's never a gene around ever
Take note that not every question has a viable answer
While some answers only raise more questions after filtering through questionable ********** banter
That's why there's a little manic in the laughter
And a wave of panic soon after
©2024
Feb 15, 2024
Feb 15, 2024 at 3:48 PM UTC
My work is simple,
I too am averagely --
uninteresting.
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 2:43 AM UTC
They sought to invoke the midas Chassidus
(striving for the most pious behavior possible)
-------------
So, beyond the beanie,
we put loyalty to those who wear it,
holding rude pen from local feathers
or reedy grass,
feel the reason
writing
calls readers, you
can do this, causally becoming aitia,
the blamed doer,
amen,
I said that, so… I suffer… what, waiting
is, suffering only means, wait, or
put up with it. Art intuits recollection
of functional whole systems, means
for prying flat stone, sand stone,
ready to be made ready for use,
usual duty, any
given day, wake up, measure up,
make day mean all of it, as it occurs
around,
bubblewise,
along, riverwise path, ruts
made from graves, with their ends
kicked out.
Ghosts of all we ever wished we knew,
we all, stretch, and taste our teeth,
sniff and scratch,
listen for wind, look for shadows dancing,
seeing the moss gone dark again,
after these past few rainy days
----------------
From inside, within-
without walls, bubblewise,
imperfectly spherical,
no sharp edges,
-in being, not out, not ex-cluded
in-cluded, clouds or clues, referentially?
You know what I mean? Clusion closure.
Boxed-in, floor and roof and walled, inclosed.
Flaw, there
in the gem, a bubble, yes, in the lens.
A blind spot…
minor blemish, or, reaching back to magic,
allowing magical thinking, distant causal agencies,
words intuned to old rythms,
the ump ump song, or the umph umph song,
pigeon strut, or the cock's walk,
old hawk, old crow, eeee-haw! We saw
we saw, we knew,
we saw clear through, to another side of everything.
Measures demanding means of making them,
seeing things in perspective…
from any perch.
Land and look around, listen to the locals singing.
I could live here,
if I found water and recognized food, waiting,
watching other things eat,
thinking, tongue-wise former of signals, seeing
through my eyes, feels no flow, signaling
that looks good,
witness the little skink nibbling, fugaciously,
THAT is a word, as sudden as she knew, she saw,
that looks good
to eat, for food.
As suddenly as ever, ever dawned on her, of course,
root, branch, seed, harvest, birds, bees, boy oh boy,
what you never learned, all that time,
you and the
{Idea of all we see, and may call, as I call this,
this it is. My highest intuition, top of the reactionary
stack,
vertical order in a linear mind set with neuron-axon,
tactile response teams, responsible for being good,
doing some life-support-level good.
Not to steal and **** and destroy the functionally good
enough, but to steal back stolen idols used to divine.
Put some ****** good ideas to work again.
The ladder has not been needed.
Need being, nothing where some defined thing,
definitely could be put to good use,
we could do with a Babble-undoer. A clear-ifying agent.
If I do not this thing, this thing is never done, aborted
at first kiss, no taste, nothing sweeter than wine,
wine, I spat, at first taste, too,
nasty, not sweet, unless,
due to time and chance,
your first taste of wine comes right from the vine,
where the little foxes play at being little foxes,
as seen from a happy father/mother pair,
there in the vineyard, since sunrise, in the valley.
----------------
From the valley floor, we contain ourselves,
we content ourselves with shorter days
than flatlanders use, our shorter days,
come on slow, so slow, old men,
like me, we can walk to the top,
of this next little trough, and
see, out across the flat bottom,
where the ocean was in mastodon days.
--------------
If you will, some days this trail calls
for more stops to think, than when I ran
with my dogs,
I can not do that now, partly due to
too many people,
and no eating of dogs.
I, yes, if I try, I laugh now, with a fiftyish
riverside family man, laughing as he skinned
some shorthaired pointy muzzle kinda dog,
coulda been a rabbit,
or a pet chicken, or duck. Hand raised for 4-H.
Jan 24, 2023
Jan 24, 2023 at 2:30 PM UTC
Trivia Snippets?
Garlic, Onion, and Potatoes
(Small List in The Kitchen)
Thyme or Mint
(Every Night Drink)
Full Names of Poets
(Long list on The Desk)
Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 6:18 PM UTC
My things keep quiet,
they are absent in my home --
till I pick them up.
Sep 25, 2021
Sep 25, 2021 at 4:53 AM UTC
Roses red
Night sky black
Love the feeling of fingernails
Etching lines up and down my back
Outside air is vicious and cold
It's warm beneath my bedsheets
Come defrost against my skin
As senses eagerly meet
Time not exists in this place
Surroundings slowly fade out
The stress weighing down my body
A burden I don't think about
Inhaling electricity
Exhaling loneliness
Grateful for present moment
Escape from daily mess
Relief may be temporary
I will appreciate it just the same
Honestly any emotion
Better than the usual pain
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 1:14 AM UTC
White transparent tiled floor
Arranged in a lively mosaic
Speaks tales of a spooky world alongside me!
The windows and the curtains hugging the plastered walls
With views of flower trees and mountains near and far...
Gets reflected upon the tiled floor
Upside down, shadowy and unreal!
Maybe it is reminder for my heart
That the world I see is only an illusion my mind frames to colour a blank canvas
Maybe the world is true only upside down
The scenaries and sights distorted and fake the usual way...
Maybe it's important to bend your mind all the way
And try to see what can't easily catch the eye...
A sinister universe breaths about me
And only once in a while tugs at me to have a glimpse...
And whenever that happens, it's a moment of all eternity that seems to go worthwhile!
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 7:53 AM UTC
I am stuck in the black void of space.
Can't tell if things are falling into place.
It's so dark in here.
Light nowhere near.
No purpose to fulfill.
No suffering to ****
I live a life so usual.
That my existence feels illusional
Aug 20, 2020
Aug 20, 2020 at 9:08 AM UTC
In this Ordinary Swoon
by Michael R. Burch
In this ordinary swoon
as I pass from life to death,
I feel no heat from the cold, pale moon;
I feel no sympathy for breath.
Who I am and why I came,
I do not know; nor does it matter.
The end of every man’s the same
and every god’s as mad as a hatter.
I do not fear the letting go;
I only fear the clinging on
to hope when there’s no hope, although
I lift my face to the blazing sun
and feel the greater intensity
of the wilder inferno within me.
Keywords/Tags: swoon, life, death, ordinary, commonplace, usual, average, mediocre, inferno, intensity, passion, cool, cold, pale, moon, blazing, sun
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 3:30 AM UTC
We're in a cafe
drinking coffee.
I'm loving your voice
listening to your lies
what a routine our lives
Feb 6, 2020
Feb 6, 2020 at 7:48 PM UTC
we start the day again
as though sleep is just a memory,
the wheel keeps spinning
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 9:05 AM UTC
in a thick forest so dark and lonely
one can rely on glimmer if he can only
differentiate, true sunlight from the light of fireflies
for miles, he trecked twilight, guided by the glimmer of fireflies
he followed their luminescent pathways
and found he had from his own path- depart
by their mystic light was lead astray
the story of foolishly giving up one's heart
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 3:06 AM UTC
Yours is the face in the crowd
I want to see.
Yours is the name that I hear
And I always speak.
Yours is the sound on the wind
The missing breath in between
Mine is the serious thing
I know you’re missing me.
Yours is the song of the south
Of east, north and west too.
Yours is the message I see
But forgo replying to.
Yours is the chart that I read
Yours is the name I wail out with dread
When I’m alone sobbing in my bed
Full of the missing in between instead.
Yours is the face in the crowd
I’d rather meet.
Yours is the name that brings pain
The bittersweet.
Yours is the watery depth
Mine is the fire that leaves you bereft
And I know that I’m still a Queen
But there’s too much in between.
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC
No one asked for me to be here
Least of all myself
I know I am unwanted
That I am a wrong being
I was not made to be loved
I’m sorry to all those who have tried
I know you think I fall for those smiling eyes
Those next to kind words
But I know the truth
I am insignificant, and you know this to be true
I am only a side piece to a true connection
People would only miss me
Because they feel like they have to
Or because they’d tricked themselves into thinking I was worth something
That’s not just their problem, though
It’s mine
How can I expect myself to leave when I will leave so much sadness in my wake
Even if it’s not warranted
Even if it’s not asked for
I’ve already caused so much harm by being here
By being wrong
But I can’t end things now
Because that would make everything worse
I know no one truly should care about me
But some are too good to see that
And try to love me anyway
They can’t see that
I was born broken
I cannot be fixed
But I won’t let them know
Because I don’t want everyone to know there’s something wrong with me
I shouldn’t be here at all
I shouldn’t be alive
So every night, I ask myself,
“Why am I like this?”
Why am I alive?
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 7:20 PM UTC
"It Comes At Night"
(Desire) First renewed
Under the silver light (of the moon)
"A Quiet Place"
(A) Fatal Attraction
There will be blood (he hopes)
Venom (drips from his tongue)
(as he forces open her) Jaws
******
(the) Heat
"Let Him Have It"
Primal Fear (is all she knows)
"The Usual Suspects"
Goodfellas (they claim)
(making her play) The Game
May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 2:53 AM UTC
This is who I was
Lost in who I was meant to be
Found all I was not meant to see
In between you and me
This is who I am
Still picking up my tab
Even the one you said you'd grab
But debts are all I've ever had
This is who you are
You won't let go
Cause your love won't let you
No, you won't let go...
This is where we stand
Inseparably apart
Your love pursues my racing heart
And when it stops is where we start
This is where we fall
Half way to where you are
Slipped as I start to pass the falling star
At least the ground is not as far
This is who you are
You won't let go
Cause your love won't let you
No, you won't let go...
If this is all this is
I just want you to know
I know you loved me more
More than love could ever know
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
i still tucked her letter away
even if she managed to contradict
all of its contents.
a heroic feat.
maybe her best work.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
(alternately titled random axe of violence)
I calculated an average
of ~10.16.... deaths per year
of mass school shootings since Columbine,
a morbid benchmark where,
iGen / Gen Z 1995 - 2012 bore significant hit,
now students require armed guards to learn - veer
really within purportedly "safe places",
which statistics tracks a unilinear
trend, and justifiably causing
absolute zero reassurance
countering alarmist state of mind dust tear
ability to accept rationale
dismissing greater probability
prevails lightening will strike loved ones,
nonetheless share
ring understandable expressing
rightful salient concerns with school board
quotidian possibility son(s) and/or daughter(s) rare
lee remain mum at every opportunity,
how second amendment does not square
with democratic e pluribus unum firmament,
lieutenant management,
quintessential reverent tenets
pointing trigger finger of accountability
at lax gun purchasing rare
lee does emotional uproar demanding
immediate controls, limitations, restrictions,
et cetera on firearms scare
the bejesus from stalwart National Rifle Association,
whence spokesperson doth prepare
convincing rebuttal (lock, stock at barrel) overbear
ring lee outgun legitimate
parental concerns, now near
daily occurrence hardly cause a flinch glossed
inducing similar reactions as
sports home team defeated, sans mere
slightly raised eyebrows while headline news
when another tragedy gets tacked
unto the 122 students killed since Columbine
took innocent lives 19 plus years ago
which ** hum sacrifice of youth or teachers bare
lee induce ripple despite an increasing number
of spent bullets fallout inflicting
more than 208,000 vulnerable
impressionable psyches sorrows need a lifetime to air!
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
Forests of Time await in the vastness of our hearts
and the simplicity of
our inner gems, they sing to us
paint themselves an accolade,
sing to themselves
a daring hum
of life present, serene
in the very same hearts
out here
are heartbreaks and suicides,
here, in these moments our tyranny is our blessing.
If you haven’t yet understood the power of this vesicle, comprehend.
Here down to our toes,
we are death, life, assimilated and working.
We are paradox's conclusions
we are demons denying themselves patience, do you hear me?
This could be our last sentence, our last repeat of the cyclic crimes splattered across screens and into our minds, honed deep into DNA and memories passed down to us,
do you think that karma doesn’t die….
Forget with me, for a moment what may tie to you to this or that, what may make you some way or another and remember,
the possibility of your existence and it's slimness and it's fervor
such beauty I could sing.
Come home.
Come home.
Come home to the wonder of yourself.
7 billion+ people and you are lovable, by some one, somewhere, right now, know this, and no I’m not talking ****** partners, although they may fall into the mix,
I’m talking family and friends,
I’m talking the trees who shake and shimmy and bend,
I’m saying the sky loves you, the rivers love you,
the dreams love you, you are a shimmering essence of pollution
turned sparkling star dust when you live like you are worthy, live like you know what you are, ( nothing short of a miracle)
live knowing the magic and beauty that flows through you,
yes, you who knows what death tastes like…and still smiles at the majesty of it all.
If you haven’t yet understood the power of this vesicle, comprehend.
We all have it on our very lips, we all have the ashes of those long dead in our lungs
we burn that to make our cars run.
We think we’re alone out here in the universe
we never even left home
Or explored the forests waiting in the vastness of our hearts.
Come home.
Come home.
Come home.
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
Glare at the blank page,
Splatter it with black
the oil that oozes up
from deep inside me.
Shape it to a likeness
Give it a collar, a chain
But I prefer not to name it.
I'm good at keeping the door cracked.
I keep the key around my neck,
In case I need to shut them in,
Or shut myself in?
I'm not sure which side of the door
is the inside.
They bang on rough wood.
Scrape with sharp nails.
I haven't named them.
If only they didn't know mine.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC