To simplify
A whirl of words
In an uncertain haze,
Is to undo a knot
With ones left hand.
The fastened knots
The right hand creates
With its callous ease
An confident twists,
Which to its sight,
Appears as artfully right.
Until its complexities over take its sway
And stirs up an ugly blotch,
Stagnating the flow.
And once a knot
The right shamefully resigns.
While, the unfamiliar left
Attempts to loosen
The whirly wordy knot,
String by string.
A tedious task.

*
(2017)
Years went by…and
The know- it- all Right
Realized with a fright
That she should have Left it alone.

That the Left knew from the start
It wasn’t destined to last
And said "this mess is now your own"

The one knot became two
And two became four
Till it squared and squared…
The space between the Left and the Right
Was never meant to be shared.

The sound and silent fury
From the two hands that clapped
Was only a cosmic spark.
To leave in each palm, a mark.

The Right conceded to have been
Wrong all along
The Left, said "your love was never there
To be gone".

Right nodded with humility
And accepted defeat.
The Left triumphant said;
We were just meant to meet.

So they both parted ways,
One to the Right
The other to the Left.
A bond not to live with
But never to forget.

Down with the D word
A dark cloud looms over.
Down in the dumps.
“you belong in a bin”
Your colonized - conscience hums.

Sloth overcomes.

No poignant metaphors
For the ****** dark D word.
It deserves none.

Down in the dumps
A dark cloud comes
One week turns into months
and like in a stenchy trench
dampness overcomes.
Gangrene in your soul.

“At war with yourself?
To what? Get out of bed?”
Society laughs..

It may not be the norm
But God comes in 50mg forms.
One day turns into a month.
And a weak smile breaks out
Your colonized conscience now dumb.
Joy must, joys shall, joy will
Soon overcome.

When pain surfaces,
it has already been blended and pulped.
It’s that untraceable mash
of the brightly colored clay,
that so easily, yet unexpectedly
merged into that
sickening grey.

We try to master this mess,
to understand and own
to both possess and disown
something we bore
something we bear.

But it doesn’t matter
if it was the Red
that started running into Yellow
that didn’t never saw it coming…
or the burst of Orange
that snowballed its way
and swallowed  the blues and greens.

Soon we will see,
that Grey is also a color
and isn’t just a haphazard mix.
So nothing, really,
needs to be fixed.

Start.
Start running.
Start at that easy pace,
That comfortable trot,

Test.
Test your speed.

Once that internal gear shift takes place
Into rapid but perfectly coordinated alternative movements,
That amazingly synchronized ****** rhythm
Will take over.


To allow this, is to test your capacity.
To allow this is to also lose
Almost - Absolute control.

We are all trained
To run as fast as we can.


What may appear to be
A soaring sense,
Of will power driven motion...
Of an adrenalin enforced, endorphin educing
Constant velocity - monotony – breaking
Invincible High..
Is a moment, when you are least
In  control.

It is one thing to win a race
But another thing
To own it.

Poetry, is not always art
You say, it can also be a symptom.

Although it comes like a ****
I say, there always is a twinge of wisdom.

See, this gassy release,
A sign of my impending thought- feces
A mark of my emotional constipation.
It puts at ease.
Though others be displeased
It is a sign of my imagination.

Is it madness or it is magic?
You begin to probe.
You say it would be tragic
And suspect a diseased temporal lobe.

Can medication
Cause hesitation
In the outpouring of my words?
“Yes it can.
Certain chemicals it may ban
You'd stop expelling all that "****" ”

But this is MY ****
I continue to persist
Who are you to grudge?
Whether I may or may not
Progress or rot,
Is not for you to judge.

You say you want to help me
To function, to be “normal”
But I don’t think that life should be
So boring and so formal.

But you say it is not that romantic
But rather mania.
I think you are being pedantic,
Science does not cover all areas.

In the end I concede,
To take the blessed pill
But say good bye to my rhyming poetry,
It will be gone once my mind is still.

If this verse were an object,
It would be both hard and soft.
The emotion I want to express
Is a painful paradox.
The light-hearted heaviness,
of both gain and loss.

The answer is not zero,
The answer is a cross.
And X marks the spot
Where gain met with loss.

And I found this X marked scar,
Across my crooked chest.
A mark of a dead heart,
Buried beneath my breast.

I did not know
This love was stillborn.
I swear, I didn’t know.
I only saw a bubble surface
And expected true love to grow.

You always knew my fetus heart
Was beatless, pulseless and miniscule.
Forgive me and my convictions,
I wasn’t trying to fool.

I feel both light and heavy.
I feel down and yet relieved.

I now see that my words were empty,
My gestures bland,
I hurt, humiliated and hunted you
Steering all, with my know it all hand.

I’ve been driving down this road alone,
Carrying carrion flesh,
Beneath my bones.

No reason for "if onlys"
But rather a heartfelt adieu,
Your insight was right.
I honestly did not have a clue.
I only said what I believed to be true.