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Subject: Poems: 230617 - June 23rd, 2017
From: Robert Morpheal <morpheal@yahoo.com>
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230617A
-----------
Play both sides
and save everyone the trouble
of creating contradictions.
Filling in the spaces
with common expectations
to wile away futile times.
Grin and bear it
as to the increasingly unbearable:
restrictive options.
Competing with the machines,
as they set all the standards
and make up all the rules.
Trying to seem compliant enough
with what comes out
from various cookie cutters.
Never being the right shape,
coming out of the oven,
and too burnt on the edges.
The people you needed
left you locked in an empty room
deprived of the rights to dream.
Drab grey spaces
that only serve up statistics
to swallow into belief.
Choke hold that never eases,
as to stimulating pressure points
of desperate feelings.
Evidence of brutal regimes,
that disavow any knowledge,
and leave only yourself to blame.
No one else to want anything
that you ever really want,
but it always remains their call.
In the totality of breakdowns
something always fails:
raising the threat levels.
-----------------------------
230617B
-----------
It takes it out of you,
and it takes it out on you,
leaving you beaten down.
The lucky ones,
are the ones that all got away,
according to official reports.
Your face rubbed into it
as to all their better options,
until the stench overwhelms.
You wonder where yours went,
perhaps having sneaked out
during one of those intermissions.
Never anyone to argue
anything on your behalf,
and your voice taken away.
No suitable or special offers
becomes the only guarantee,
that you get to collect on.
Would steal your last breath,
if they could abscond with it,
without chancing to be caught.
Discard of the used up
emptied out of contents,
made to feel drained out.
No way to ever fix
what they have broken
to beyond repair.
In the sum total of it all
you can never add it up
to anything half reasonable.
Draw your own conclusions,
as to all the ruined plans
that rewrite your memories.
--------------------------------
230617C
-----------
A deformed and monstrous
state of mind,
all twisted and bent.
You mould it your way
and they mould it their way,
until formless and void.
A whole universe
can disappear into that
vacancy.
Your very own bell jar,
pumped out
of any real possibilities.
Promises to fill you up,
at the next opportunity
but revealing no details.
A superficial imprinting,
of a few stale routines
making it hard to remember.
Failed to find the right word
in all those failing mythologies,
tangled up in reasoning.
A fictional character
they created and defined,
as never really existing.
Make a life for yourself,
following package directions
mixing approved ingredients.
Bake as directed,
for the required time,
at an indicated temperature.
The sort of strayed thing
that they are directed to ignore
to the greatest extent possible.
Forget any claims to fame,
as to marginalized attempts
at expression.
You can always try,
but it will never work for you,
as to any real freedom.
Reductio ad absurdum
of existence locked into argument
where no one ever wins out.
----------------------------------
230617D
------------
Making any sense
makes less and less real sense,
once you understand something
about what it is always all about
when it is about anything at all.
It only makes any real difference
if you actually are someone,
rather than not much more
than being a facsimile UPC
of a cereal contest label.
Enter as many times as you like,
and never win anything,
lowering your sky high hopes
to valuable coupons in the mail
for products you did not want.
A senseless little life
that no one needs to care about,
as they keep dealing you,
each new shuffle of fate.
Life is a high stakes game.
Tossing it around,
until all tainted and spoilt,
having overrun the expiry date,
and failing to conform
to the latest packaging regulations.
You are a package,
of surprises that no one wants.
Should have been differently wrapped
and manufactured far less breakable,
to withstand the wear and tear.
You keep formally applying
for creative license,
but it never comes in the mail,
and no one ever really calls
in response to that type of notice.
They were finished with you,
before you ever began,
on all those aborted mission
cradle to grave journey
following road maps of disaster.
Never imagined left alone
would end up so punishing:
feeling as trodden underfoot
as the discarded wrapper
from a candy bar.
---------------------
230617E
-----------
Wanted to get away
from all that undertow
that pulls down,
all the wishing and dreaming,
about what successful people do
in advertisements.
Never could get that far out,
to going the distance
as to what successful people do.
No matter what
that distance really is
to get that far out.
So hard to imagine
what really stands in the way
of being lucky
to end up that far out.
It seems so far out
from here and now
and passing time,
putting in time,
where it seems so much
further and further out,
in the far out distance.
So far out
beyond the edge of despair.
Never quite able to stop
from heading out
into wishing and dreaming
about something,
that happens
in those advertisements,
that are so far out.
So far out of reach,
and far out,
left nothing to grasp at,
but grasp at straws,
to try to get a grip on
holding on to something,
far out,
in the broken loose,
pushed away,
ignorance,
trying to hang on
to that verge
of never really knowing
beyond poster lives,
that are so far out,
in advertisements,
while feeling so pushed
pulled down deeper
toward completely under,
and that rot of earth
thrown in on top.
---------------------
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