"neutrality" poems
On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident
To set the sight on fire
In my eye, nor seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.
Although, I admit, I desire,
Occasionally, some backtalk
From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:
A certain minor light may still
Lean incandescent
Out of kitchen table or chair
As if a celestial burning took
Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --
Thus hallowing an interval
Otherwise inconsequent
By bestowing largesse, honor,
One might say love. At any rate, I now walk
Wary (for it could happen
Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,
Yet politic; ignorant
Of whatever angel may choose to flare
Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook
Ordering its black feathers can so shine
As to seize my senses, haul
My eyelids up, and grant
A brief respite from fear
Of total neutrality. With luck,
Trekking stubborn through this season
Of fatigue, I shall
Patch together a content
Of sorts. Miracles occur,
If you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.
18k
As the liquor undulates down my throat,
burning a little more at each swallow
like lighting a match with wet fingers
I realize that in this moment
I am not worried about you
I am too busy sequestering my existence
with alcohol that does not remind me of you at all
the one thing that can not summon your name to my mind
one thing that makes me forget you, even if only for a little while
Fueled by liquid fire
nature’s neutrality doesn't do much
for this current wave
of lust and infatuation
I am only a girl
fragile, choleric
& craving something to fill the hole you left
And I know I will wake up in the morning
with regret, a headache, and an empty stomach
It can take 2 hours, 8 hours or a full day
to get alcohol out of your system.
but it's going to take
much more than time,
to remove you from mine.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
you sowed this **** into my brain...
why do you even "think"
that i want... you?
i, want your children...
the meme-mutation is what i'm
after...
and there are plenty of useful idiots
to allow me to process
the intermediating processes
for: the sigma, "accomplishment";
which is unlike
what infected mushroom's -
trance party track sounds like,
outside of my own head.
why do these people even
think i'm after their genes
of memes?
i want, their infantile
replicas...
i want to craft a
worthwhile curiosity,
on a canvas, that that they call
their gene replicas, children,
and... like why called me...
easy meat..
einfachfleisch...
what?
i'm not here for these news' anchors...
i'm here for their children...
nibble nibble nibble chew chow
cow tow and main...
prawn crackers...
ah... news anchors are
easy targets...
slightly pointless
20x bulls eye honing devices...
it's their children...
i want their children...
i want their cognition
to become replica of wheelchair
bound infirmaries;
why?
oh... you know...
football and wrestling,
given the Qatar investment plan...
the whole sport "thing"
became a tad bit boring...
had to resort to secondary sources
of entertainment;
children of news anchors?
the secondary, "last",
albeit, the best resort;
schindler...
required a list,
to become reincarnated...
and revive a **** a heartlessness
of an reincarnation
anomaly:
i.e.: what, a limited number
of people, to begin with?!
so the rest is primitive "a.i."?
now i'm starting to think...
thank the blue indians
for their culinary innovations...
but when it comes
to their theology?
**** 'em;
did i advocate that?
if i did... within what pronoun
guarantee of advocacy?
playing the grammar card...
which pronoun?
the plural singular,
or the singular plural,
or the gender neutral?
thank you jean-paul sartre,
for the... "i"...
i simply love, this revised concept
of a unit...
the revision clinging
to the royalist affirmation of pronouns...
i.e. 1 would say... so...
and 1... would, so, will, do so.
**** the pronoun debate
in Canadian politics...
if i have to resort to this?
then i will...
like your plain citizen...
may "i" speak within
the confines, of the royal, one,
given the example:
one might suppose...
to be the former, and the current,
highest, etiquette?
gender neutrality of pronouns...
last time i checked...
one was never allowed
pronoun stature...
why not address this
conundrum, to begin with?!
oh, right... too late...
too many loud mouths
without a guillotine...
so, basically, a cow fart's
worth of argumentation.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
People take the world as they see it themselves
some see black
some see white
many see grey
as for me?
I see it for what it is....technicolored.
Life is far to wonderful and bright too see it as simple black
it is too deep and mysterious to be only white
it is too exciting and amazing to be described as grey
There's a reason that there is color present everywhere.
If the world were colorless, so life would be.
But the autumn leaves are crimson and gold and apricot
The halls in which we walk are of light saphron and amber
The city streets in which we trod are spurted with shades of periwinkle and magenta
The meadows through which we stroll have flowers of violet and buds of rose
The trees with which we have our yuletide celebration are the solemn green
Life is as we see it
dont be strapped down to bland colors like
grey white black
Life is color
Furious Scarlet
Dejected Sapphire
Joyful Fuscia
Envious Sage
Playful Yellow
Even as you look in the mirror, colors are shown to you.
I see
eyes of chocolate
cheeks of mauve
teeth of pearl
lips of ruby
skin of gold
Even my soul is multicolored in all its numerous facets
Dont let yourself be barred into the cell of neutrality
See life for the rainbow that it truly is.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
“My sole goal in life is to keep racing
down the interstate without a clock
so I can keep going until people forget who I am.”
In my head I knew I was wrong
hypocritical, insane, illogical, but above all I was still
humane!
This, yes, this sole fact is what keeps me
separated from you
draw a straight line down the road we lived on
the squares and the circles.
You, with your fancy plaque and NHS bumper sticker
With the family of four and no reason to feel failure
With your perfect scores and magnificent vernacular
Who let you have it so easy?!
Me, with my Jimi Hendrix poster
family of who knows how many
and the chance to earn my GED in a few years
Why was it me?!
You met your wife in the 10th grade
You gave her a promise ring and everything
Even took her with you on spring break
Who said you didn't have to try?!
I was placed in the wards that year
they said it was insanity
I thought I was just thinking ahead
Why can’t they understand?!
BUT THEY ALWAYS UNDERSTAND YOU!
You, your Shakespeare perfect jargon
Mr. Right, Perfect, next coming of Beethoven
You were made to please everyone and become important!
And that’s what separates us.
Even though it’s the same street that raised us
I bought the Harley and your parents got you the Chevy.
And I recall the one time I was flying down the interstate
And caught up to you as you were going nothing higher than 70.
I stared at you and you kept your eyes on the road.
I don’t blame you, I knew that you just wanted to see my bomber jacket
I have a skull on fire on the back of it
So I gave you a great view
hope you enjoyed it.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
*
*O
dear hater!
do u matter?
of course not!
but thanks a lot
for letting me know that
people have right to reject
i am still not perfect,
and for equipping
my mind with neutrality!
my heart with equanimity!
my soul with magnanimity!
my life with acceptability!
for the black and the white
the wrong and the right
oh i think you matter
love you my hater!
yes you matter!*
*
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC
Riding the air
In dark morning
A steady current of rain
Descends
Upon everything
The fir tree
The house roof
My dogs fur
The empty Ash tree
The fallen leaves
Brown, red, yellow, orange
The bird feeder catches the water As does the bird bath
The puddles
The street
The cement
My head
My ears hear each
Multitude of patterned drops
In apparent chaos
Reminds me of the
The synapses in my brain
Circuitry, each drop a connection from
Dendrite to dentride
Messages of the unknown
Of falling to earth
Of vulnerable life
Unprotected.
The unhoused, in the cool soaked air of December. Will you remain blessed?
Will you spread your joy in the patter of rain to those who bare the rain in their skin, on their dampened clothes? Adding a chill.
Will today you find some without a home
Bringing tarps, blankets, source of heat, to those who listen
To the same rain
While they shiver
And you stay in your glow with your tidy wood burning fireplace. Stay comfortable? Risk giving for giving sake. What floods of love can you share in December rather than giving to
Your precious family, the left overs, the excesses
And give to charity that make each day another day for breath in rain from the heavens. I choose the rain. I could be the one in
The open now, soaking as I pen these words.
Hoping words of love, neutrality, non-judgement and altruism be the "church" we reside in. Drop by drop.
Over a hundred different sounds of rain brought to earth by gravity, in my receiving ears, and the tiny sparkles of light reflected upon the light from the street lamp shining upon concrete saturated by this extended morning rain.
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 9:10 AM UTC
Death is the act of becoming.
Death is the act of birthing.
Death is all that is, creation;;;
And destruction.
Death is love.
Death is hate.
Death is neutrality.
Death is chaos.
Death is order.
Death is truth.
Death is real.
Only death is real.
Death, death, death.
Only death is real.
Death is life.
Death is gateways.
Death is magick.
Death is G-D.
The Lord is life,
Thus, The Lord is death.
Death is endlessness.
Death is the spiral.
Death is forever.
Spiral. Spiral. Spiral.
Death is deathless.
Death is holy.
Death is Shiva.
Death is Allah
Death is ********
Death is Om.
Death is Jesus.
Death is Roman Empires fallen.
Death is the earth fallen.
Death is trees fallen.
Only death is real.
Only The Lord is real.
The Lord is death.
Death. Death. Death.
Only death is real.
Life is illusion.
A testing dream for death.
Death is a gateway to Divinity.
Only death is real.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
Preparations
For Love and Destruction
Volatile environments
Whose inhabitants
Distract inhibitions
By enacting emotional exhibitions
Fueled by liquid fire
.Injection.
Fluid spirits
Energize the soul
Chemically reacting to stress
Freeing the hostages
Housed inside the hostile hospice
Of hearts
.Ejection.
Nature’s neutrality
Doesn’t do much
For this current
Wave
Of Lust and Frustration
So,
Lo and Behold
The solo soul below
Who bellows
In the belly of beasts
Like growls
That grows into speech
As I transform from
Animal to Anomaly
Asking for the one thing
That will keep me
From the answer
.Rejection.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
Adversity is one of the things we can’t escape in our lives; it is also one of the biggest hurdles that we must overcome for us to become better individuals. However, is this meant to be a negative, cynical assessment of what we must look forward to? The answer to this question is no. There are several effects that adversity can bring to our overall being, it can be either positive or negative depending on how you evaluate them in your perspective.
One of the best things about adversity is that it’s a forceful being that tears us away from our comfort zones. It is like a strong wind that brings us to the places that we want to go but with hesitance to do so, it also removes the things we have grown fond of but are holding us back from what we should be, leaving us to be in the best shape that we can ever become instead of just imagining it from afar.
Despite the best thing that we can get from adversity, it can also ******* us if we become too stuck in an unfavorable mindset wherein fear and pain comes to play. We think so much of the unknown that we forget that we have to move on, until when we do so, so much time has been wasted.
Adversity is like drowning in a river of neutrality; we drift to the currents of the same common thread and forget every bit of unique trait we have upon us, and while we face life like lost ravens drifting through the darkness, searching for traces of non-diminished skies, we find meaning in our lives as we find that small patch of white light at the end of every misery we have conquered.
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
I love...
I hate....
I like....
I loathe....
Two complete opposites on this scale of human emotions
What lies in between
Is it acceptance or tolerance
What better person to ask than one's self
When those shades meld, what color is formed
Love is often the passionate red
While hate is the unapproachable intimidation of black
Is it the same as the mother earth or the same liquid that flow in our arteries
I still don't understand these feelings that I feel for you
I hope that perhaps as I get to know you
My vision clarity will be unblurred
That it will become more vivid as I notice more than monochrome nor the neutrality of angry red
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
There is a place
in you
that needs a name
but you're an absolute beginner
at naming things.
Centred in this pathos, I've never known
whether to create stillness or bitter passion.
In this, there is a sacrifice,
something to see through to the end.
The openness I sometimes extract
can break me down.
Is it better
to find a way to say it?
Would it be better to hang for it
or to forget
how the fig is fertilised?
In its sweetness,
to forget
the distaste of undermining friendship.
I have stretched myself into the past.
I have stretched my body
to see the places it could end.
Vein bubbles
from where it started,
wet bloodgasps;
sorry smear of a poem
they write your name next to.
History repeats, all that's left;
neutrality at the cost of
a better passion,
and the count of
how many ribs you have and how many you've lost.
I abuse my fingers
and still expect them to carry me through.
There's always a way
to see trauma as something to crawl into.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
My eyes smell sleepy, he, refusing to depart,
But there is coffee on the nightstand,
The odor, infiltrating the dozy brain's heart.
Annoyed with each other,
They shout and fight
Like teenage siblings Commissioners at the SEC,
Arguing over bathroom monopolization,
The tongue stays sidelined, feigning net neutrality.
The bed smells empty,
For the **** has crowed,
Yogi David commands your presence
At Saturday morning Eight O'clock yoga services.
To get to his Sinai on time,
Early departure, an FAA requirement,
Car, ferry and foot you will deploy,
In the winter, special skis and snowshoes,
That blessed by his mantra,
Enable you to walk on water.
In the kitchen there is sisterly conversation,
Yes, puttering and muttering and discussing,
Sister's grown child texting, he's making the pilgrimage
To see Mama, alone, unexpectedly,
Six hours driving.
Friends and countryman,
That is how you spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e
Sleepy master dwarf refuses to concede,
Says when kitchen noises retreat,
Back to him you will supplicate,
They (the other dwarfs and body parts),
Have a big convention to better communicate..
Departure comes without a kiss,
But not without complaint,
She always says I love you first,
Which is natural,
She being a girl.
Now the bladder starts to whiny~chatter,
What about me, what about me,
Don't you love me, and me rhymes with P!
While the stomach quietly snores
Have been well-fed
but a few hours before,
He dreams of some more....macadamia crusted s'mores...
I could verse you more,
No problem that's for sure,
But you got the point:
The morning smells.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 7:18 AM UTC
I am somewhat perplexed at the clash between neutrality and expectation, as we genuinely present our being on the field of open vulnerability. I seek to find synthesis in this very moment, between emotional thesis and antithesis. Oh, my literary companions of global interconnected and eternal being, I beseech you by the power of respiratory arrest: dare to surpass the line of expected mediocrity, where few will ever tread. I am hungry. Let us acknowledge that "authority" is a questionable truth and let us resonate with the awareness that truth is an infallible authority. The character of perceived vulnerability is steadfast in the face of assumed evidence.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC
I was right. All composed of circles, but
Not a bad thing
Relations make life worth living and
Knowledge of them dispels any notion that
It is not
So deeply intertwined the little glimpses
Matter, carry
Explosive realizations in their handbags
It is hot, we are more than
Excited molecules and yet not
Really, excitement is relative
And we enjoy being excited
Heat transforms into a manifestation of
Interrelation awareness
Our world is largely cold and digital
Not to say we need to be
Neutrality is too often stifled by
Polar hands
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 4:16 AM UTC
I can feel the golden warmth awakening my paper.
Everything is so right,
it's a cool spring night,
the city is so alive,
my poetic mind should awaken and come to life,
then why don't I want to write?
Perhaps what makes us put our ink pens to our lined papers,
is when we know,
we must give it love, anger, sadness, assurance, care.
When our minds and bodies are touched,
so tremendously with feeling,
that we must rejoice with our beloved;
as we make it feel what we feel,
inking our thoughts permanently,
scratching the surface until we are content.
But if we only feel neutrality,
it is alright to stare at the white blankly.
We will rejoice another day perhaps,
tomorrow, a month, who knows?
Only time will show.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
You're still the first name I think of when I scan my thoughts scouring for a thought; when I need a thought to drift myself to sleep to
I want to view you as innocence and I did for a long time and I tried to take your reticence as a sign of neutrality, not belligerence or a sense of mocking
How silly was I, to assume that 5 whole months that you refrained from the topic of me was neutral
That you were just moving on, but not on purpose
But oh my, you've become more belligerent than I ever expected a little girl with a shrunken ego to be and my, I didn't think you could say those things about me. But you did.
But, entropy is apt to only consume us; yet, the scatteredness of our atoms cannot explain why you chose to tell me that I am not right in life
You've defended yourself by projecting yourself onto me and my making me the scapegoat so you can pick up some girl that you don't have to ***** to ****
And I guess that humanists and I are wrong because well
People ******* ****
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
You three believe in creating scarcity,
NOT union.
You build HOV lanes for your luxury cars,
caring less how efficient they are.
They roll royce cross your game board,
fuming trails of money.
Bell Atlantic bought Madison Avenue,
you bought all the properties.
Now tenants can't avoid
the traffic or the noise
of an internet rolled in palms
and diced
spiraling
to speed limits
...
...
...
...
and red highways
...
...
...
...
and orange traffic cones that
block hybrid cars,
already swerving
to avoid bankruptcy.
We
STOP
the
STOP
people
STOP
moving,
our preamble crumbles to a
STOP,
becoming a eulogy —
an ideal dumb to power trippery,
after Time Warner and Comcast merged,
allies on opposite sides of the game board.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
together you own pretty much
everyone but Fox and Disney,
(yet have invested in them heavily).
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
your oligarchy is
NBC, Universal, CNN, Warner Brothers,
and now FullScreen,
family-friendly nepotism
that inbreeds bearing
deaf drones bored of flying,
over
Why Beyonce is a Feminist.
or
Why Ferguson was racist,
media's offspring
just keep clicking,
the headline genocide victims
basking in concentrated lamps
for a sliver of attention.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;
Now you want the backend buffering,
bulging eyes and emptying pockets
of those Spocked into believing,
hyperspeed was ever necessary.
No choice when the exits are slow
and there are no backroads.
Verizon, Comcast, AT&T;,
offspring of the
Bell Atlantic Company,
we will not let your
****** populate the internet.
Call it Capitalism,
but your playing Monopoly,
yanking the carpet underneath
to the wood of Tyranny.
You shamed
Bell's invention
by stringing together
telephone
internet,
and
entertainment companies
until you could be lazy.
Monkeys who spent millions
to shriek at government parties
about the communication machine,
a system downloaded so slowly,
we
did
not
act
on
cons
piracy
theories,
when Amazon made online shopping so easy.
Dear Internet Service Providers,
so called ISP's,
WE ARE DONE playing Monopoly.
Our collective voice
will shout blasphemy
on your streets,
hashtagged
net neutrality,
till you're counting pennies.
So empty your Washington banks
cause it's 3 a.m. and
no ONE is winning.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
With her black eyeglass frames and sensible heels,
the psychiatrist is a contrived portrait of neutrality.
The timer on her desk ticks sickeningly,
counting off the missed opportunities for revelation
that pass with each minute.
I ask her if she has considered a Victorian fainting couch,
she does not smile.
I make cheap cracks about diet ads and the plight of the modern anorexic,
she scribbles something on a legal pad-
from where I sit, the only legible word is "questionable".
She is not describing herself,
yet I can think of nothing more dubious
than being paid to listen to another's tedium.
I spend one hour each week with my hired companion,
and she, in turn,
spends her time relaying information
to another army entirely,
sending reports to the other doctors,
leaking statements to my family.
She is the informant, and I,
the gullible sap who believes in
"conditional confidentiality".
I pretend I know nothing of the arrangement,
and try to speed time by imagining alternate realities.
I picture her as a talking doll-
A string protrudes from her back;
when pulled, a mechanical voice says
"I see", or occasionally,
"How do you feel about that?"
I stifle a laugh,
and glance over at her glazed expression-
there isn't much of a difference.
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:52 PM UTC
I wake in this city
This city that didn't bear me
This city that didn't raise me
And yet it's this city that i seek to find something of me
Not in the pubs or the clubs or the karaoke bars
Where revelers conspire to dream and drink to the stars
Nor the cafes where poets and artists in a foreign language create.
Pass the market stalls where secondhand books and vinyls are stacked like freight
It is to the quietened streets of the old town I go
Where i long for the walls to speak once more
To reveal their hidden histories
To help fashion some sense of a man
One unknownst to me, my fathers father whose name I share
A fine skilled seamster, thus a tailor by trade
Not arriving to this city for work on fabrics of nylon and silk
But to stitch and sew the flesh of limbs in a paramedic corps
Another pawn of the Great War under King George's command
Driven only by economic necessity from a penal homeland
Not of conscription, politics or some moral conviction at play
For the price of neutrality is one that poverty simply refuses to pay
Returning home to an Ireland of hostility or silence at best
Medals now lying deep in pockets not proudly pinned to chests
Irish heroes don't fight in a British war for a King's crown
No such stories from father to son shall ever pass down
And now, a grainy photograph, three medals for a sons son to take
A dog tag that bears my name, a number and RC to depict a faith
From a man exiled in his home as a forgotten prisoner of war
To honour a legacy i find myself in this city afar
Asking the same questions of him as to me
Is this city the last place he truly felt free?
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 7:37 AM UTC
Did you check within your dream?
Are you hiding in your sleep?
Has this world become surreal?
Follow me
Bless the night
Bless the sky
Bless the woman who conceived this child
Bless the tide
Bless every lie
Bless he who lets his imagination run wild
You judge me for my judgment upon right and wrong
But what is good and what is bad?
Nothing
Neutrality
What is cast as good through the mass is later protested against in majority for the wrong choice.
Wrong again.
Eyes sinking in deep thought
The blackness you carry has been a burden not only to yourself
Your past is circling you and all you do is cry
You replace the beauty of nature with artificiality
Like the flowers in your vase which once required care
Now cast into a world of no restrain or effort
You say you understand
But do you really?
Or are you yet again simply judging my thoughts based upon the facts you know about both you and I?
The grass you lie upon will later burn you and cause you to lose what is known to man as 'sanity'. In the future you will rest upon dreams, rely upon liars, welcome the unworthy, lift your servants, free the captives and live what you have thought impossible.
Be thankful I am tired for my mind is restricted to a line of thought so thin that once concentration is lost, there is no return.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 7:32 AM UTC
The many different shades and variety of colors envelop my entire world
Through I also can't help but see in monochrome
The palette where I mix the possibilities
Each are beautiful in it's own way
Adding to the depth and richness
Art is beauty to the beholder
Every detail, every shape, every color, every thoughts or feeling put into it
I hope that people would envision what I have experienced and seen
Red's passion, yellow's brightness, blue's coolness, green's gentleness, orange's energy, white's purity, black's shades, pink's affection, purple's dignity, gray's neutrality.
So beautiful to my fading sight
Let me liven up this boring world
Full of routines and a cage
Dying the world
In my messed up mind
Let the creativity unleash itself
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
.
1. Big Brother
Big Brother's protecting his mice
with a secret eavesdropping device.
If you hang up the phone
he'll just send in a drone
when a warrant won't really suffice.
2. Neutrality
The internet's meant to be free,
yes for all, such as you, such as me.
But now there's some doubt -
will it lose all its clout
with the death of neutrality's spree?
3. Privacy
'twas surely our forefather's dread
all our emails would someday be read.
Now that push comes to shove
by the powers above,
private thoughts must now stay in our head.
4. Guantanamo
Guantanamo bay's a resort
where the fishing's a fabulous sport -
with your back on a board
tepid water is poured
spawning tales for a kangaroo court.
5. Banks
To bountiful bailouts give thanks
for there's nothing much richer than banks -
making money galore
taking homes from the poor
while they're managing mortgaging pranks.
6. Health
If you live in the States don't get sick
(lest a cut of the upper class clique).
Whether injured or ill
all they'll give you's a pill -
if you're lucky you'll surely die quick.
7. Economy
Our economy's doing just fine
lying dead with a slug in the spine.
So come follow the call
where there's money for all
and pure profit's the bottom-most line.
8. Safety
Vigilantes and cops are wide spread -
as for justice… not even a shred.
The avengers of right
score when stalking the night
so beware of a cap in the head.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
Mutilated chains of flowers
delineate where schoolboys cowered;
sixteen brick houses on St. James Street
reduced to red dust under homeless feet;
photographers pause, catching their breath,
spellbound by the neutrality of death;
clearing haze where the white chapel stood
reveals ever-dismantling wood;
the market's one register on a charred-black stand,
nearby derges lilt from a funeral band:
*...oh and as, and as
they're lain in silk and white ashes...
the town broken apart, flattened...
...in marble graves and mahogany
under skeletal laurel branches...
...on down to sleep, to sleep...
...we may walk with weathered ease...
...oh we may consider, may remember,
a granted time, an affirming love...*
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 1:40 PM UTC
There's nothing here
or there
that makes me think to myself.
There's no thought here
or there
that makes me question reality.
There's no reality here
or there
that makes me look forward to the future.
There's no future here
or there
that makes my past seem worth the effort.
There's no effort here
or there
that makes me believe either side has anything going for it.
There's no belief here
or there
that makes it all understandable, righteous, reasonable.
There's no reason here
or there
that makes any of this make sense.
There's no wrong,
there's no right,
there's no up,
there's no down.
All there is
is me.
In the middle,
unaffected.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC