The trapeze artist without
trapeze,
encased within a paper weight,
reading through eye
glasses crafted for readers
astigmatic use.
This is the mind set...... this is the end truth.......
Being is embryonic,
to become, to the pupal larva,
a new becoming, Life.

               II
Quantum leaps often end in tragedy
               when the time traveler ceases to travel
                         The sudden stop!
Rapid communication......synaptic calibration......recall all yesterdays.
blind intellect               one tenth of one second         15 seconds
The dimensions split and the bicameral mind appears two lobes
right and left, inverted vision adjusted for
mythic fusion,
creating abstracted convolutions
answering to them self. A planet in a galaxy of confusion.

            III

Imagination finding place in the new electronic
institution, man made synaptical illustrations
from pixilated madness.
We take from this..............an
illogical extension of our existence that makes some sense.
We make it such
that it becomes
the most told lie
we believe without questioning.
Till death we do part.

             IV

As I inhale looking at my past...my last past, well
in any case the past is where I just wrote past the last time
like now PAST.
Rationalization is overrated, intellectual *******
is for the cools, and catatonic haze is a new wave drug.
It is early in a new society's evolution.....
It is late in the face of time......
ergo quantum quandary quid pro quo

Ajerry / copyright

                                                                   2013

I see things through
Astigmatic eyes.
These peas percolate
But exhaust our supplies.
If you blink I will see,
The energy of light dies.

So, as I consider the atrocities
Of my mind.
Release the emotions
That bind.
Maybe through your character
You will be kind.

There is no thought to
My reasoning,
And our link is something that
Needs questioning,
It will allow possibilities that are
Always repositioning.

I do not know my feeling
Or emotion.
You do not show any knowledge
Of internal commotion.
We will not bow down to the social
Concentration.

Remember your idealism of humanity,
If I become uncouth.
It is because I am unstable at times
Of tongue and tooth.
You are the only one that disallows
My smooth.

Dear Louise,

At 2:30 AM after
two hours of sleep
I feel I am looking
through a keyhole
and reality
is sneaking up
from behind
to give me
a much needed
kick in the *****.
Somehow, I have fallen
into a hole so deep
I can't climb out.
The arena of death
destroys the illusion
of safety and
at some point
the naked heart
cannot recover.
Everything seems
after the fact.
Everything is
after the fact.
You can't change
anything after
a split second ago.
I feel a curious desire
to do the right thing,
but there are not
enough right things
to go around.
Is life accessible?
Is life inaccessible?
I have the curious urge
to puke out forty years
of my life's garbage.
Maybe I'll change my name
to Antonio or Ivan,
move to Hiroshima or Dachau
and see the world
through the binocular
but astigmatic
eyes of a tiger.
If you asked me
to describe someone
I really know,
I'd be very hard put.
As a kid I wanted
to be a writer.
I wasn't sure
what that meant;
early ideals can **** you
but you probably
deserve it.
I know I am wrapped
so tight that if
I spring a leak
I'll sink in a day.
Could there be a way
to fence my life in
and keep the world out?
I am consumed
by fatuous sincerity.
I'd write down
all the options
int this case
but I loathe
the **** fascism of lists.
My hormones seem
to be deliquescing
into a viscous pâté
of late life protoplasm.
They belong on a shelf,
not in your pants.
I guess if no one else
will make use of me,
I'll have to make use
of myself.
This is a difficult task.
My life has been
a long preparation
for something that
probably won't occur.
For too long I have
defied almost everything.
A strong man would simply
drink himself to death,
but I'm not that strong.
Many of my sins of omission
are beginning to bother me.
Perhaps the only real use
for today is today.
Maybe I need to get
back to the basics:
eating, ******* and dying.
How to maintain
my equilibrium in the face
of incomprehension?
Waking up is a kind of homage.
Or could it be that
I don't need to change?
I'm just this.
Anyway, it's 2:30 AM
on a long night
in a strange life.
I'd better go.
Dawn may creep up
and release the
stench of coffins.
Louise, if you get this note
and understand it
please let me know
because I don't.

Sincerely,

Mikey