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Bo Tansky Nov 2020
I didn’t know
You could love someone like this
I didn’t know
You could squeeze the life
Out of the ones you love
I didn’t know
I wish I had known
I’d of let it go
A long time ago
I just
Didn’t know

I’m letting it go. My love
It’s for another time
When the past catches up to the future
You’re home free
Arrive as destiny
A time when
When you’ve slain your demons
Traced them back to the very first baby hurt
A time when
It was all play
I was you
And you were me
I’m letting it go.
Bo Tansky Nov 2020
The canvas is even emptier
Then before
A blaring blanket of white
Even emptier than
The paper on which you write
No lines for boundaries
No direction
No guidance
Does it define us?
We keep on writing
To fill the emptiness
With prettiness
That denies us.
Bo Tansky Nov 2020
Standing naked before creation
Close to the rugged, shadowed edge
Where “Metaphor and “What’s it all for”
Made a pledge
They agreed to disagree
It was just as well
They came from opposite sides of the fence
There were times when it got pretty intense
And it wasn’t always romance

Embracing the edge
Is the only sensible thing to do
Cliff hangers are not for cereal killers
Who take their cereal without a crunch
Who don’t play well with others
I’m going on a hunch

“You talk in sugar-coated sentiments”
Said, “What’s it all for?”
“What’s more
I have no idea what you’re talking about”
And followed him out the door.
Bo Tansky Aug 2020
The baby still cries
But she’s much wiser now
She ran home
Pounded on the door
Please let me in
I live here
Where you are
The rest
Just an empty quest
For nothing at all.
Bo Tansky Aug 2020
You can’t get out of this intact
Your perpetual power machine
Leaves you feeling so dissatisfied
And out of whack
You think you’ve lost her
Your ship of self-discovery
Your dependent tendencies
Create propensities for freedom
But you fear the formless
Honey, you’re going down with the ship
Hook, line, and sinker
Never mess with a free thinker
You push everything to the limit
Feed your soul black goo
That sticks to you
Fooling yourself with self-deception is cruel
You ignite the fight
In your fright
And all your misinterpretations
Reminds me of all the conversations
Never had
Doesn’t matter to you
Doesn’t matter to me
How very zen of me
Excuse me
What did you say
I know all the sides
And none of the entrees
So you can call me
A know-it-all
Or don’t
Call me at all

You judged me through
Your own craziness
So tell them all you lied
Tell your sister
And all the others
Tell them
You were trying to rescue you
From you
And you
Didn’t know what to do
That guilt trip you took
Down distortion way
Had you down on your hands and knees
To pray.
Those lies you told
Don’t soil your soul.

Except for the hunger you feel
You know this is dead
Thinking instead.
You made it all up
In your head.
Bo Tansky Aug 2020
Conditioned as an old leather glove
Fitting as an endless search of love
Jammed together as knots on a rope
Sliding a slippery *****
Me as Misanthrope
Lover of hope
Hater of nope
Some smooth as a quiet summer eve
Chaotic as a garbage heap
Wrapped in twilight sleep
To haunt your night
With barely a peep

Hey there.
Over here.
Where oh where
have you come from?

A heavenly abode?
Where here is there
And there is anywhere.
Where thoughts play their part
Awareness got its start

As you
As me
Must we rethink
Or is it the other way around
Chasing the thought down
Into the silent part of town
I have booked a reservation.
Into divine silence
A less traveled designation.

Seems so random
Yet orchestrated by a great hand
Could it be
Like as puppet master
Some ephemeral higher self
Prodding and poking
Pointing to directions
You dared not go
Pinched by pain
You don’t want to know.

Do you feel the push and pull
Of an authoritative hand
A gentle guiding
A silent light
And the pulsing prism
Through which you know
If the light seems to dim
Know it’s only a momentary respite
A letting go
A rabbit hole
One needed to go down
Something one needed to retrieve
Before another go around
To the sender of this thought
If you dwell in the shared silence
of connection
Two ends
An invisible cord
One of perfection
The other
How to be sure of
Only an uncertain knowing of  
A certain direction
Is showing.

Some thoughts
I would send back  
If I could, love
But never the feeling
For I am
The colors with which I paint joyfully
The words with which I speak lawfully
The chair on which I sit hardly
I was what you wanted me to be
To please
But that was never me
But a part of me

Just as well
For if every story tells a lie
How to know, how to tell
Truth be told:
Some would say
There is no truth.
Nonsense I say
If that is true
Thinking it through
Proves truth
If a lie
Proves truth still
Some tell tall tales
Some tell short stories
Some leave breadcrumbs
Along the way
Some ***** monuments
For another day

I am
Gods mighty vessel
Might you dwell there?
In the house of the seventh abode
Where the choice and the chooser are one
And on the coattails of god you rode
For awhile
As you
As me

To choose from
A potpourri of probabilities.
A thought repository.
A heavenly quarry
With a penchant for fair
A warehouse of prayer
When received
Then perceived
Leaving an indelible imprint
On the blackboard of spacetime
By a lofty stenographer
To ones’ utter amazement
On judgment day

as a field
of flowers
a ground to surround
Vivid colors all around
Shapes and sizes
Never seen
No in-between
No upside
Take no sides
Only a fire
To express desire

You are the dreamer
And the dream
Lost in a dream
Of yourself
You believe
You can be what you want to be
Royalty, celebrity, scoundrel, rat
Queen bee
Sometimes the queen loses her head
Plays dead
What a sight
All in a daydreamers’ night

Dare you know peace  
But for only a moment
The dreams a momentary forgetting
From the shackles of separation
Have you awaken as me
Is this your dream too
Have I
Awakened as you

To know you as me
To be free and in love
Kneeling down to your knowing.
Thoughts are the clothes you wear
The outer bank
A personal think tank
A familial thought bin
To recycle them?
To trace every thought back
Looping all the way back
To the start
Before thought
Before you
Before me
To the first shared feeling.
Like an evening prayer
You are always there.
hiding behind
The clothes you wear.
Bo Tansky Jul 2020
I would tell you
If I could
Just how
Neurotic this life could be
Why the whole world is in a state of PTSD.
Of the worst kind
Between you and me
An alien invasion
Would seem a social occasion
These days
Will Phoenix rise from the ashes?
Are we all going to hell
In a handbasket?
Wondering what creative works will arise
Out of the ashes of humanity
Some forged in the fires of hell
Some catapulted into a brothel of insanity
Some say we’ll get through this
Some lost in the 3d matrix

Baby wants to go swimming
How neurotic can this life be
So at the end of the day
With thick bolts of lighting
Streaking fury
Across the night sky
Not a night to go swimming, but
Baby always gets her way

She is never where you are
Except even you, I regret
Can be an invasion of sorts
Like one trying to get out of ones’ own head
Here where she thought she’d share it all with you

Whether or not
You wanted to hear
What she wanted to say
I’d say not
It only matters that
Baby gets her way
And at that
she’s so good
And somewhat cute
She pouts and sighs
And cries, cries, cries
Pity. Pity, pity
Oh pity me
Baby nurtures her pity
Like a fine cup of tea

How many permissions does she need?
We all have our boundaries
Trespassers all
Yours suffocate me
You pounded on middle c
Choked on conventionality
Exalted banality
never acknowledged egality
You doused the fire
Put out desire
How unreasonable of me
To think
We could ever be
Like a lion and a canary
And a cage to come home to
I really didn’t know you.

You apologized to everyone but me
Oh baby
Please forgive me  
I was wrong and
I promise
You believe me
Please don’t leave me.
I’m down on my hands and knees
Begging you, please.

You can
Cry me a river
If you can’t forgive her
Then serve one master, sir
I defer  
let it be her

Don’t cry for me Argentina
If I’m not leanin
your way

You’re quite pathetic
But don’t let it
Get in your way

How neurotic can this life be?
These were all parts of her
Some she wasn’t so proud of
But what of it
We’ve all been there
Except for the saints before us
Whose halos get a little tarnished
From all the lies they’ve garnished
What of it, even
God doesn’t go around with a halo
On his head
Or does she?

Just a story
You don’t have to believe it
But. I know you do
Because it’s true

And that was her story
And now that’s his story.
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