"dissolvable" poems
A series
of short puffs
from a rekindled
cigarette expertly put out
on the half
reminds you of your
fastidiousness
now you feel like **** as you look
at the wreckage site
of a desk that
is your own doing
That is what you do.
While your ego
floats like the unmelted
coffee you put in cold water
Hardly dissolvable
to anything normal
missing anything temporal
You lash out once more
waging a war
with a nation
of thoughts
You kick the furniture
to send the dust flying
That is what you do.
You attempt to sheathe
an intricate wound
patterned on your
knuckle, as detailed as the
dystopia of your
own human agenda that
can be trivialized by just
"I haven't been myself lately"
when somebody asks
because you're afraid
they might see
you find it
hard
to
belong
Slowly, the dust resorts to settle
on the bedroom floor
And so do you.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
A solar eclipse of angelic proportions stretches across the day sky.
Space and time stopping for just a moment.
Waging factions joining hands for a temporary ceasefire.
To halves are whole for a moment.
Just a moment.
Then they move past, uncoupling again.
The world begins to move again.
Cars drive on, taxis honk their horns, people cross the streets of life.
What seemed so cataclysmic and final; was merely anticlimactic and dissolvable.
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
If there were ever anything to speak of, anything of value, anything worth desiring, then it shall turn out to not have been dissolvable. And if, on the other hand, it has dissolved, then well, what substance was there beforehand? Perhaps things of worth can change, perhaps they can be caused to shift unfortunately for the worse, but i think the things worth keeping are able to be kept. Those things which matter most are of a substance incorruptible. It is our deepest desires that are answered by those things which cannot be destroyed. If a thing can be destroyed, it cannot answer our deepest desires. And so i continue on, testing each thing, each moment, to discover not only its substance, but its value. And i find, more commonly than not, that this question will remain until I am transformed into remains myself. And upon that moment, I will know what was worth it, and what time was squandered in seeking things much more frivolous than they appeared. Above all, i will know that life itself was not a thing squandered, for by death it will not be ended, and if by death, then by nothing.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
The substance is diluted but tasteless because the flavor is psychological
How many sips must you experience before you realize the essence is mythological?
In theory the idea was beautiful but solving the equation became impossible
It's impossible to equate to such a beautiful conclusion when the variables are just not logical
That's my way of admitting that you and I are just not possible
An inverted fraction, not solvable
A mixture of oil and vinegar, non-dissolvable
Always willing to try again but the chances of success are just not probable
If I were you I'd just walk away and let the heartache slowly follow you
Because if you stay you will be slowly following heartache and that's just not logical
The light is dimming in your eyes you don't have to tell me, I see it and I know it
Guess it’s just one of the many dangers you encounter when you fall in love with a poet
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 6:10 AM UTC
He filled concrete
in my broken sidewalk cracks,
a way to fill
my empty void.
He did not tell me
the concrete
was dissolvable
and temporary.
So when a rain of tears
fell into the cracks,
the concrete washed away,
and my empty void
emerged again.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 2:12 PM UTC