The future: Insecurities.
Like a black chasm,
(swallowing your absentees).

Uncertainties, promiscuity,
bewildering circumstances,
you try to find present serenity.

You never knew smoldering
could happen underwater,
until you see that later,
always under the
weather.

Lost for words — train of thoughts,
lost for sure, the battles fought.
these insecurities eating me,
(who would have known?):
because I never let,
it to be really, shown.

Wake up to a pulsing morning.
Sooner than you know,
circles back to ******* Monday.
               Empty batteries.
               Empty call log.
               Empty stomach,
and ash-mouthed, empty-hearted anger
leaves its streaks on the walls
of the insides of the skull--
               it's a kitchen, that mind you got:
it's covered and crusted--well used I suppose--
but smells funny, needs dusted
               and swept
               and mopped
               and wiped down
               and shined up. Dress down
the absentees in your life--I'm sure you know how--
'til it circles back 'round--
               to breakfast,
               to Monday,
               to you.
             In your bed.
Fight the throb in your head and push back
on the sheets that still rush up to claim you--
slack jawed with maimed thoughts--though it's
late in the day.

The wind plays a haunting tone
It tells me that I’ll die all alone

Far from my friends
A breaths away from where they can no longer defend

My footsteps fall to the sound of guns
It’s too late to become undone

Shiny eyes watch me
The little, waiting absentee

With ****** wrists wrenched behind my back
Standing bound before a man on horseback

And a ***** rag covering his eyes
The absentees’ about to die

Long live France; Long live the future
And the flower falls to the shots of the shoo

Ah the intimacy of houses
in lit windows
scented kitchens
clothes hanged out to dry

Ah the intimacy of houses
seemingly cosy
and quietly caring
in the twilight

Ah the intimacy of houses
a chair on a fallen porch
foretold absentees
ah the intimacy of time

Over the top of my head flies what has never been said
These were the things I sit to wait with you to discuss
The late night frights of the hot wet nights
After the fall of the lonesome droll wall
White with posters unseen blinking flourescent moon rock scents
An imagining of the image seeking men with their plans
Upside down I hang with my feet gently danglin'
Enough heart here to **** us all
But there was use use imagining since it'd all been done before
Lost through these streets that can't wait to hate
With the trees rustling and the people with hats a' shuffling
Yes' too many hard mornings with empty hands of hair
Graveyards wave to the hoofbeat plaster seats
They were the one's that lived once but now no more
Your the one I fell in love with yesterday
But today I don't know to say only "No more"
Enough pain in this place to make a man obsessed with his gain
So much sorrow here all one can steal rather then borrow
Ideal absentees jot down plans while sipping their tea
Dirt covered wagons hover on each and every season
Upholstered expensive season fancies itself once again
Money made is money paid and soon to drift away
The heart and its heft only knows how to produce the theft
Tell me lady, how did we end and find the strength to begin again?
Was I too fast or too slow or was there something I didn't know?
Could it be that I ain't supposed to be with thee?
That the road is the smoke in all of our ears?
That these houses with their horses is nothing but silent voices
Captain commando plans for his great victory
While I'm lazing around thinking about the magic of the sea
Cannon ball splash makes all the white ladies dash
Toward the door that, to their surprise, is no more
Dementia delinquets spent all their cash on someone they don't love no mo'
Hysteria heart break with metal newspaper clippings on the side
Who's that one over there?, she sure is sitting pretty
Straight laced with a fierce heart I could tell right from the start
Another program for the sea at large we ain't ever gonna be in charge
Too many miseries here makin' the men see stars
There were things that happened due to the river roar
But now I'm asking how to give myself a little more
Receiving nothing back or what to spend my time with
What to get to know
Chilling chastisement of a separated state that begun at the bar
Hurt from the start but thats alright cause tomorrow will come which always seems to be
Just another shot in the dark

Dear Poetry,

My deepest and sincerest apologies that I've been away for so very long
I know you're not pleased with me, and I wish I could say you are wrong
But please accept my appeasing words, and place them in a pipe or ****
Smoke session for the absentees, as we turn this poem into a fateful song

So now that we are friends again and I've spoke and made peace
Desist from how things have been, and promise me to also cease
Resist the inclination to use common words such as Seize the Day
Thought incubation can create replacements for the typical cliche

In conclusion,
Poetry, I just want to thank you for always being there for me
In Seclusion,
the great wide open, anywhere in the future I may choose be
An Exclusion,
Is impossible with you and I in collusion for eternity's timely
Perfect Illusion,
Which can only be truly stamped once these words are set free

don't worry, you're not a communist party member,
but hell, what a world of difference it turned
out to be for my grandfather, retired prior to hitting 60,
or thereabouts - seems it would have been quiet
o.k. to have been born in 1939, and having the memory
of herr bittebonbon, an ss man giving me sweets,
so sweet that my hands would stick together;
just saying...

now i don't really understand which communist
"party" you adhere to, twitter, facebook,
tumblr, whatever,
   we are the generation of *users - the "pioneers" -
we were the ones stuck to the screen writing
in chat rooms when m.s.n. was still breathing,
just prior to microsoft having to invoke hunts
for pedophiles -
                  just before they closed -
and just before acronyms were pop -
    and less complicated -
      just before english started to mutate,
deform, started to look uglier by the day,
like some drunken irish boxer getting too many
knuckle kisses -
            i've forgotten how to feel...
stupendous? arty farty? what's the word...
   pomp-riddled, popish?
                ****, the world escapes me -
but for people who don't know what chat rooms
were... right at the turn of the century...
   i feel for you...
          then comes the other thought -
always, always, better an unpredictable tornado
of whirling thrills, than that mundane
straight train-track load of thought:
sober, unchanging, and if not in some relativistic
muddle, then clearly in the north-north parallel
magnetic repelling mind-set...
              yawn.
      i didn't say: don't use it -
          as i am always reminded:
alcohol was created by people, for people -
yep, and i feel like a god downing a litre of whiskey
per night...
        mind you, that's better than glorifying
the other way... if a hermit does harm to himself:
he is only doing harm to himself,
   so... you can shove that a.a. ******* 12 steps
up yir **** and trot along...
             i have but one step,
visit your grandparents in your native land
and ensure you: keep up appearances -
  i was always the grand liar when sober,
then go back to england and stare at the trenches,
and the existential blackmail of:
more babies! more babies! more white babies!
besides the point, a woman can write the most
blissful romantic poem, and it has the same fate
as a newspaper, same day it was printed,
it falls into a gutter, or becomes desperado
toilet paper; i never knew why ****-eroticism
was so perfect in this medium:
  honestly? gay guys never seem to shut up
or have a narrow set of interests...
   oops...
        nonetheless it still feels like social media
is communism lite,
                  the corporate media is ballistic -
to no real surprise... don't you just love the term
dittohead? i have to look up the german
(sorry, i have a fetish for the language) -
ah!      ebensokopf, ebensokopfs...
         and then news from the construction site...
those ******* english hogs...
   lazy-*** "professionals" -
                 do nothing all day, expecting that:
oh, just a few slavs, they can do the work for us...
if i were you, i'd get the bangladeshi or
the irish on board... then again, you might like
to consider an arab or a sub-saharan workforce -
  ******* hogs, and bulldogs,
really gets under my collar,
  when people dissolve a respect for honest
and high tier labour... is it me, or has capitalism
completely lost the notion of respecting labour?
at least communism respected labour, work,
    whether it be a plumbing issue,
an electric issue...
           and not some poncy "vintage" antique
dealer's ******* of a mahogany table...
            what is the western world build on these
days these? their native workforce
     who have two left hands -
yep, pointing outwards - unfathomable that
western people fell for the perils of
       software "technicians" on social media -
     they are geared on the software of reality,
which looks kind'ah ******, from what i've seen -
while eastern europe has fun with the hardware
side of things;
   oh, by the way, if you're attempting to buy
a flat in london? don't bother,
  the english have terrible skills on industrial scale
projects...
   i've seen the pictures...
     perhaps elsewhere in england,
   but in london, you'll be lucky to spot a dozen
of english trades people -
managers, sure, obviously...
   but the rest?
           tumbleweed moment;
  at least we know what the irish are famous for
other than river-dancing... laying concrete...
and the scots? roofing; and the poles? ah you know,
roofing & a bunch of other trades -
zdrowie na budowie, zdrowie na budowie,
zdrowie.... na     bu.... do... wie;
and another point, why are people of my
generation afraid of having parents?
    the cohabitants?
             let's turn that one around:
you shall not be embarrassed to have parents...
under whatever circumstance you find
yourself in...
    because it got be thinking:
   we reached that stage of single mothers
         and their ***** donor / i.v.f. *******?
i'm waiting for those ****-offs to hit 20 years!

Under a certain light,
with calm mollifying gleam,
at the touch of a hand
aphasia sets in quick,
sudden and sweet, and
submerged in a pool of milk,
I become a toy submarine.

When candles did die,
burnt to their wicks,
I hear you sing,
holding up half of my skies,
convulsive muscles flex,
as if a broken thing
was longing to be fixed.

Surly time stilled passed?
Though from its presence,
we were absentees,
too preoccupied with
our arms stretched outwards
weightless as bodies
on the Dead Sea.

While some be walking on sunshine,
I’ll be walking the fine line,
Between the sublime and a unhinged mind.
Quote the raven never more,
Through space and time.
Wonder if I ever find…
The meaning to the core.
That breeds life,
And seeks death.
And if it matters if I’m a Jedi,
Or become a Sith?
To face judgement in the afterlife,
Even though reality is already a punishment.
It makes no sense!
Should I conform,
Or should I resist?
After all I never chose to exist.
To roll around in this ****,
Like I’m some piglet.
Guess I’ll need some anti-septic.
But perhaps I’m just a cynic,
Who see’s the pathetic as poetic.
And calls it out, regardless of pro-etiquette.
As it’s like trying to live in a room, comfortably with an elephant.
Hold up wait!
I’m in my element.
Our systems a detriment.
To those it deems as a pestilent
So, they develop a regiment.
Oh, Here we go,
Again with that rhetoric.
But **** it,
The world is ****,
And I’m here to better it.
If you want songs that are melancholic,
Or has themes about money, fame, or *******.
Go to your local bargain bin,
And you’ll find a drake CD in it!
Haha.

When it comes to life,
You got two choices.
Laugh or cry!
This is the thesis,
Of a divide,
Between our inner Jekyll & Hyde.

Fighting the voices,
That got me wanting to commit suicide.
Thirsty for death.
Where the formaldehyde?
Shadows always lurking,
Hard to hide,
Even harder to fight!
When you got to pretend,
Like everything’s alright!
After all, fake smiles delight.
Where the drugs at?
Want to get higher than a kite.
In order to numb my plight.
Smash the mirrors that surround me,
Because I can’t stand the sight.
Can’t let people see the demon inside.
That feeds off positivity,
But sadly never satisfies its appetite.
That turns allies to absentees.
With the toxic cycle becoming dynamite.
That leaves fragments to those near the surrounding.
Because, Intergenerational trauma doesn’t discriminate, compadre.
But hopefully we will be able to heal one day!
Till than though…

When it comes to life,
You got two choices,
Laugh or cry!
This is the thesis,
Of a divide,
Between our inner Jekyll and Hyde.

Blue means blue
Silver service leaves silver trails
uncommon route to vistas significantly uphold
toil of way back to present days marks expectation
they see and know that in a thousand eyes one purple gild
and all without will steam, bubble and boil in irreverent furnace
absentees from the sublime stay rutting in stag hunts in dire dreams

oooh gawd finally intervention
through pandemic which puts
self serving absentees in their place