271018A
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Everybody dreams,
but can they dream freely ?
Dream freely
of being anything
that they might want to be.
Can they dream of having sex
with anyone
that they want to have sex with.
Can they dream freely,
of having anything
that they might want to possess ?
Can they dream freely,
of being butterflies,
if they want to dream freely
of being butterflies ?
Or are they nothing more
than the condemned.
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051118A
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Autumn holds on tightly,
clinging;
the way it is with gold
and bejewelled looks.
Season of a fleeting wealth,
appearing night colour,
in flight as quickly
on a breezy 'morrow.
Times of apparition,
rising up a chill mist
from hoary earth bowers
damp with memory.
Waving of tall grasses
marching unison,
dishevelled conspiracies
whispering in the rushes.
Reminders are dropping
as all that has fled,
across time and circumstance
leaving a parchment thin wake.
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061118A
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Longing to be free,
to practice some form of insanity
with someone
equally and similarly crazy.
Cannot ask for much more
than that sort of holy dispensation
from the crazy gods,
of the crazy making world.
Secrets can be found
in the debris of our civilizations
that we gather up and around,
wrapping ourselves tightly
into layers of whispers.
A seedy sort of understanding
growing up in forsaken corners
to be streamed dead end.
Longing for a thrill ride,
to somewhere past the edge
of echos of mediocrity.
Beyond a serving of ice cream
with everything on it;
sundae school style.
Imagining what it really means
to be whipping...cream.
Licking at the salt
as it reminds of old wounds,
and blood thick cherry sauce.
Martini glass chill
hovers in extraterrestrial air,
across a dry moment
of stunned silence.
Hardly anyone
ever grants quarter
or gives anyone any chance
on the everyday battleground.
Battle plans carried off
by the usual loyal traitors,
to whom they were distributed,
along with greeting cards.
We are swallowed up,
in trying to get away.
The algebraic equations
of variables, needs
that never meet,
left to craving solution
of momentary genius
might be found anywhere.
Equations as clever
as architecture:
deftly combined mixes
of dread and safety.
Beings thrown together
to be shaken up,
into concocted accounts,
of ending consumed.
The hungry streets
chew at remaining patience.
It is eaten away
into shattered fragments
of broken anticipation.
Maybe the next time
will be something better,
than more of the usual.
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121118A
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They will only lure you in,
to new types of deprivation.
That is what you get,
in exchange for despair.
It is about creating hungers
that cannot be satisfied.
They leave you behind a fence,
craving anything.
Not even sure what it is,
that you crave,
but it is gnawing incessantly
past slogans and billboards.
A fence that isn't anything
that you can squeeze through,
crawl under,
or climb over.
Leave you to die there,
without even a taste
of anything
that you have cravings for.
You get teased with glimpses
of what goes on,
somewhere on the other side,
of perpetual frustration.
You got left out and off,
any important invitation lists,
and no one would tell you,
what is really going on.
You try to do it yourself,
only to make another mess of it.
Nearly gets you killed
somewhere beyond that sideline.
Looking for a way out,
to get you out,
of the total mess you are in,
as you get pulled in deeper.
Doing what you are told,
would only kill you anyway,
so you don't really care anymore
what any of it ends up saying.
The words sometimes come out
between those cuts across the throat,
but it is not what they want to hear,
escaping strangulation.
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Been unusually lacking as to words of late, and not my best writing, but who am I to judge. What resonates one string harmoniously, rends and breaks another into dissonant noise. I never really know. I cannot even begin to guess. So there it goes.
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