301116A
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Doors that would not open,
and keys that never fit
into those countless locks.
All that time spent trying to get in,
while always a stranger
having come to the wrong place,
perhaps at the wrong time.
Compliance is always teasing,
with an endless number of requests,
that can never really ever be met.
Everything stops short
of really being counted in,
beyond the rows of barriers
signifying grim prospects.
Egregious errors mounting up,
yet remaining unrecognizable,
having become faceless, nameless,
masked ghosts of lost possibilities,
for which probabilities are calculated,
to infinite numbers of decimal places,
all signifying absolutely nothing.
You were in a dream of some sort,
but I do not really know anything of you,
in the way that it is as to all such dreams.
It seems I do not know any anymore,
in amongst all that tripped up sliding away
to sequences of bad habits replayed,
where nothing really new ever happens.
Love was never really any sort of answer,
due to being too much of a blank cheque
displaying endlessly rising sequences of numerals,
creating another sort of deficit spending,
where the mythic soul never actually profits
despite all of its contrary wishfulness
as to amassing its own fortune and interest.
Never a chance to even the score,
while taking another hit
from known and unknown assailants.
Most do not leave any visible marks,
but that is the signature of their brutality,
wounding in ways that can never heal,
in any real time or spatial sense.
Kept falling in and out of wishing,
until fallen away into the big nothing,
having been cut loose, to labeled adrift,
unable to maintain a grip on sparse moorings
enveloped under that new cloud of unknowing
which is really a massive data stream
creating loss, confusion, and insignificance.
Perpetually hammered at,
in the process of being broken off,
pieces are forever tumbling away
beyond any reach and any recovery.
There is no one to tell you anything
about anything that might really happen,
and asking brings a surplus of disdain.
You left me as though I was derelict,
to endless ideas that I cannot ever afford,
while you joined up with all those other people
who had all found something more and better,
than anything that I could ever be to them,
I know that if I had begged you to remain
I would only have won your laughter and hate.
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301116B
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Surveyors
trampling across the quiet,
demanding a ten or fifteen minute slice
of some portion of the brain,
to be charted,
examined for flags and other markings,
measured in some careful relation
to find out which stars are positioned
along longitudinal stretches of flesh
in all their prevailing latitudes,
strewn around the room
in some geopolitical disarray
of mine, your’s and their’s
defining uncharted territories
that everyone must want to explore,
for any potential exploitation
as to shifting of boundaries,
appearing and disappearing fences,
defining the vagaries of lives
subject to command and jurisdiction
according to rank and file,
in some ambiguous determination
of what seems as if it really is order.
They know you better than I know you,
because they can ask questions
and they can get careful answers
far more freely than I am ever able to.
They are excused
from various common acts
of hide and seek,
thus permitted to engage more directly
into forbidden investigations
into your various peculiarities.
They know more than I do
about your likes and dislikes,
along with knowing what you want,
without further obfuscation
intruding into the midst of any dialogue.
If I could give you a form to fill out,
as to multiple choice responses,
it would save us a lot of futile time
being spent on personal interrogations
for which I need a permission slip
issued from uncertain issuing sources
that always insist on permission slips
prior to the questioning beginning.
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301116C
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You no doubt rate
and I won’t argue your rating highly,
knowing the world belongs
to high status people
who always rate highly.
Some of whom rate highly,
no matter what they say or do,
while others never rate
no matter what they might do,
or how they might do it.
Everything tends to come easy
to people like that,
and those who do not rate
are merely an embarrassment
to those who always do.
Everyone is always worried
about their ratings,
but few have official pollsters
to conduct surveys
as to whether they are up or down.
It is not what you happen to say,
but instead it becomes who decides
what is to be considered popular,
proving that you can never guess
unless they let you in on it.
It depends who you were with,
where you were seen,
what you were known to spend,
the car that you drive
and where you happen to live.
Among various other facts
that define who you really are,
determining what prizes you win,
what parties you get to go to,
and who calls you on the telephone.
You learn it most acutely
when you chance to connect
with those who keep their distance
because you are not the right people
that they want to be seen with.
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301116D
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There are the always beautiful people
who all seem to have come from the same mold,
and who live remarkably identical lives,
and then there are those who are made different.
It is peculiar how people are made different,
and as to what makes them different,
even though they were not born that way
before life made them so extremely different.
Even those who are different from most others
always seem to want the very same
products that come from the same molds,
that have not been made particularly different.
Something about quality assurance practices,
as to how they apply to predictable originality.
How everything has to be creatively consistent
as to any narrowly defined and permitted variations.
Differences are so very important nowadays,
that most people no longer want to differ
about what differences they want to know
and what differences they must necessarily dislike.
Sometimes it seems that I am made too different,
even as to the mold that I was made different in,
and made completely certain I could never be anything
any of the beautiful people would ever actually want.
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