Deep down
I crave the sacred
Now that everything is
Just a dust mote limping along
The curvature of a light beam
in this dilapidated house

I've winked
At everything but the kitchen-sink --
Although, I do have my eye on it

Cynic
Know-it-all that knows he knows
Nothing
Conflicted

I wish I knew subtlety

Mona Lisa's quarter-smirk
Makes my emojis feel
Sorta slutty --
like they try too hard ya know?

^.^

Heaven:
Rainbow-colored
toothbrush mustaches
And
Killer drones friended by elm trees

Dissimulation is
my religion
Because
it just explains things,
It walks back the big crutch
It makes gods into amoebas

All. I. have. are. words.
******* scribbles.
Stillborn syntactical limbs of whim
Severed at the moment of send

Yet still
I deliver and hold them
Close to me
They are my ex-press
A last confession straight to the quick

The world doesn't spin it screams
We just Van Gogh it with
Slurry nite nite sleep tight's

God, what I would *give

Do not dissimulate from life
Lethargy instills apathy
Droning everything bores you
Nothing gets your blood boiling

Truth evades your gray cornea
Your persistence is persuasive
Petite energy emitted
Exhausted to convince numbness

You are the youth, the world’s future
Dissimulation not an option
Wave the white flag. We’ll still wage war
Never will you conquer concern

My comrades in texts and I’ll fight
To give hope, future, and success
Or we will perish in battle
Content knowing we truly cared

PLEASE CARE ABOUT YOURSELF!

The king of cover-up is at it again,
Downplaying financial ties
And close connections with other countries,
Especially when questions arise.

First it was with Putin and Russia.
How much collusion remains to be seen.
Conspiracy in election meddling?
Whitewashing is now routine.

And then there was the hush-money
To cover-up some hanky-panky.
Dissimulation's easy when
You've got money in the banky.

It looks as though you must deny
And try to hide actions you rue,
But calling your fling "horse face," is that
A gentlemanly thing to do?

Now the cover-up deals with the Saudis--
With the crown prince and the Saudi king.
Denial…admittance…rogue players…
It has such a familiar ring.

After bragging over and over
About the millions of dollars he's made
From wealthy Saudis, his words are now
Exploding like a hand grenade.

When the leader has conflicts of interest,
Critics, pundits, and others who know
Where his interests really lie,
Shrug and say, "We told you so!"

He says he has a "natural instinct
For science." Isn't THAT a joke!
I wish his "natural instinct" was for
Telling the truth whenever he spoke.

-by Bob B (10-18-18)

Droning a monotone note,
Rocking back and forth,
complaining of a sore throat,       
I witnessed a man go insane.

Down the street from the store
By the grey abstruse sign on the back door,     
 He did a quick shake. . . .     
 He did a quick shake. . . .
To the acrid taste of an apple.
With his begrimed hair and dark eyes,
He pulled out a paper and started to recite his final goodbyes,     
 O darkness!
Swaying, syncopated with his incoherent words,
He imagined a world with only birds.      
Sweet world!
Coming from the innards of his soul.      
  O darkness!
In a deep voice filled with dissimulation,
I heard that man whisper,     
  “Ain’t got nothing to think of,      
Ain’t got nobody but my self.     
 I’s a lonely man,      
And I find no reason to prove it to oneself.
Thump, thump, thump, went his heart against his chest,
He thought back on his life, and was not impressed-      
“I cant find comfort,      And I can’t be satisfied.      
Can’t find comfort      And can’t be satisfied—     
 I ain’t got a care,      And I wish that I had died.”

And for a long time he sat there.The sun came up and went down.
The man got up and started to walk without a destination.
While he was stuck in a state of disconsolation.
He closed his eyes-to die-or to engage his imagination.

He sits on the edge of the world
unconcerned with the
dissimulation of
polite society
busy little bee's
bouncing off reality
living the dream he
so valiantly fought to protect
he sits there quietly
saturated in *****
manufactured of
white port fueled
by memory of war
contemplating
nothing
invisible to most
but still
a blight upon their sensibilities and
a horrid fright to the eyes when seen
cold hungry and shivering
they could give a **** to his welfare
they cogitate his insanity
his own undoings
and that smell
the smell of death
lurking  waiting to pounce
on yet another of society's outcast
putrid sores covers flesh uncovered
where gnats and flies feast
and maggots dine beneath the skin and
his breath
his breath  smells of Dragon Blood
do we even know what Dragon Blood is?
apparently he does
two tours in Vietnam an a Purple Heart for bravery
yet he sits on the edge of the world
bravely trampled underfoot of apathy
absent of coalition
he wishes only to be left alone
to dance in the pain
of degredation
and waltz in the face of death
until God calls him to reckoning
he will sit there on the edge of the world
listening to
the mundane idiocrasy of those who wander by
left to his own maundering
invisible that is
until the olympics come to town

Her soul's poetry
Written  in deep dark ink,
Gushing through her veins
Etched across her bones
A tale untold

The world rebounds on touching her surface
Nothing ever leaves a mark
Or atleast
That is what she makes believe

Breathing life ,
She walks into the crowded room
Hidden behind her jokes and laughter.
Comedy weaving up the tragedy .
Humour , the only link to her sanity.
She breathes
Broken,  unnoticed.


The world brushes past her touch
Blind.
Oblivoius to the struggle.
Her mind, toxic to her soul
Her skin, her veil.

Yet, her pillows talk of red swollen eyes
And endless nights
Gazing at the moon
Half hidden beneath the clouds
Reflecting light
To cloak the darkness seeping within .

She draws her blinders shut
While her guitar weeps her wounds
The cadence of misery
Into the world of rhythm, she slips.

When shall the masquerade end ?

She walks away
Into the fog
On her own

Brick after brick
A fortress she built
And locked within her own incarceration,
Short haired rapunzul
Afraid to let the knight reach within .
vows of saviours, never heed.

Her facade, flawless
Yet not deceiving those little eyes
Searching for the truth beneath the illusion.
Decrypting the inscrutable dissimulation.

To those pair of eyes,
Slowly fading into oblivion
Lost within it's own ceaseless blue
Seeking for the line between the black and grey.
Her voice , liberating .
Finding its way within the chaos,
Resuscitating.
Giving life to a long forgotten voice
which whispers,
"Take off the masque, You're beautiful. "

I'm here once more, but then again when was I not?

as if my eyes have ever shifted from my reflection. I'm sick of it.

I don't know how long I've been here; this dimly lit trap gives away no time.

all else melts around me, pools into ripples of my distorted reality.

I sit and I watch my face. I long for the familiarity of yesteryears that I cannot trace.

my skin yawns open, wills to consume itself - porous, velutinous, and brittle.

this is who I am, this is what I see:

tyrian purple flesh decomposing, falling inside my bones that split and splinter;

my mind climbing out of my head, fugitive from the skull's prison;

breaths, ribbons of grotesque, not deep enough to last and not shallow enough to be numbered.

everything without is human (decaying though it is), and everything within is dissimulation.

this molten, fragmented un-being doesn't escape my sight. these eyes have cried out for respite -

and yet they exist, the odd and sole constant in the mirror before them -

wistful for oblivion and feasting on fear. what's gone has kept me alive for longer than it appears.

this body doesn't even feel real. my fingertips burn at every touch.

what more shrapnel does this heart desire until it plays out its final beat?

Who, I am, is just the following of what,
What, I am, is just a stone away from where,
Where, I am, is just sails away from why,
Why, we are, is a planet away of who.

Who I am is just a person wearing a pretence,
What I am is just a character of what I try to commence.
Where I am, is this visage, carrying the drama in this scene,
Why we are, is where I merely am playing my part, as my actions are already set in the figurine.

It’s not adequately unexpected for the viciousness that is presented in human forms,
Its pretentious validity, in various forms, in vivid and foolproof flaws, as veteran as victim it withholds.
He desert, hides, cloaks or flees. He screams, breaks, vanish, retreats. He hides, shields, masquerade and juggles. All of these patterns that run in circles and hobbles.

We are not disarmed as much by the sword or bullet but rather by our past,
The whispers, the memories, the mistreat that is amassed.
For I too will have vengeance for myself,
For I plan a vendetta that will never be forgotten, and will haunt thyself.

To effectively grow I have to push past the point of my comfort zone and experience inhumane situations,
No expectations of thoughts and feelings, no blank lines or allowance of consultations because I will lose myself and make my own insinuation.

So please let your anger, hate, *******, intimidation,
Your screams, betrayal, pain, instigation
Thy emotions, force, projections and manipulation,
Be my entertainment that only helps my dissimulation.

For who, I am, is just the following of what,
What, I am, is just a stone away from where,
Where, I am, is just sails away from why,
Why, we are, is the vendetta that’s been bought.

Words are not enough.
Those that are not meaningless
may simply lack importance
or else be capable of
myriad interpretations.

Let us set aside dissimulation
and deception by flattery.
Let’s put an end to empty words
or unctuous, or sanctimonious,
holier-than-thou, obsequious,
intended-to-deceive euphemisms.

Words that were the greatest boon
to civilization: that made it possible
for humans to engage in dialogue,
to see inside each other’s hearts,
to identify each other’s needs
and substantiate our own,
took on, eventually, another role.

Time it is to recognize
how words have now become a tool
for scoundrels to dissemble.
Time it is to liberate the human heart
from language that holds us in thrall.

Time it is to reconnect
with our humanity.