"symbiology" poems
mama warned me
about becoming attached to ghosts,
about chasing the lights that flicker behind closed eyelids,
trailing their
ruminant symbiology
down labyrinthine tunnels
till you're left, stranded
in a nowhere from where you started
and they fade
away
to nothing.
...
I keep loosing sight in the lag
that hesitant flickering pivoting between footsteps,
those pauses of breath between paragraphs
of the mold in the ceilings dictated speeches,
the decade old dust encrusted spider-webs on the coffers abandoned superstructures, intricate semantic patterns, still present, present, but encapsulating nothing.
(Educations warped my mind
into prescriptive paradigms
drugged up on science fiction
alternate attritions of future presents)
–//
One day,
the ocean promised to swallow the world,
but failed to set a date; just a vague sense of inevitability.
and everyone gets uncomfortable about the liminality,
and there's
a moment of rupturing
unveiling the blanketing
in the process of our mass comatose suicide,
That no ones sure what to do with.
And we collapse into the indecision
of what to make of this wavering present
loosing sight
between barricades of candy bars and cheeseburger pies
while the radio static sighs
'boys only want love if it's torture'
(i find it a bit optimistic)
//–
I keep becoming waylaid in the lag
the hesitant faltering between long warn down footprints
travelling down some path set out by the last
in no way definitive; but, at least, defined
by the haphazard indentations left behind
while sometimes there’s treasure in the depths that we climb
it's never the kind
that explains itself.
(But still time turns and churns and burns
while we frantically mine all the scattered urns.)
–\\
The philosophers and neuroscientists keep working to find the foundations underlying why
we think what we think, why we feel what we feel,
they peel up the carpet and peer into what's beneath, but
they just keep finding
ripped up carpet and musk.
\\–
I keep searching for home in the lag,
the tumbling bind of footfalls enshrined.
but even if there's no way out of here,
there's occasionally a whisper of camaraderie in the air
(you never escape,
no no,
but sometimes
the enclosure unfolds )
...
mama warned me
about becoming attached to ghosts,
about chasing the lights that flicker behind closed eyelids.
but here in the dark,
i'm not sure what else to follow.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
There is no home
With which I'm blessed or bothered
No tether; air
I'll fall back simple and cold
There's symbiology
Creeping along the curtain
The covers
Hiding my papercuts
Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 4:41 AM UTC