241118A
-----------
Molasses thick week,
drips into weekend stickiness.
Rolling over in it,
as it holds to reluctance,
of a spider web escape plan,
to not opening eyes
onto the desolate land
sucked dry and empty.
Flakes of dreams
crumbling away at the edges,
it all comes apart
at the seams.
Making a hasty retreat,
in disarray,
after counting morning dead
littering the fields.
Nothing to rise up for,
uprisings being put down,
before finding a chance.
Tangled in sticky threads
indicating a purest futility
of all forms of struggle.
No way to get
out of any entanglements.
Write those notes
stuffed into bottles.
A castaway
on a tiny island,
trapped in vast seas
of impoverished plenty.
Nowhere to cross over
to any side.
--------------
241118B
-----------
Still telling me,
do it all by your self.
Make me shake my fist
and say fuck you,
to the empty sky.
I am only a rag doll too,
that they shake around,
for a laugh,
when in the mood.
You are a rag doll too,
suspecting all the time
that you are being played with
by cruel giants
and the ugliest of their monsters.
Shaken up,
and trying to keep it in,
under wraps and rags.
The made up lives,
that rag dolls suffer.
Try to guess
what sort of figment
a rag doll might become,
and prepare yourself
for brutal endings,
as to being shaken up
and savaged.
They knocked the stuffing out
of some of those friends.
Ragged them
until nothing was left.
Shreds of disbelief
scattered in radio winds
that rake across the city,
only to vanish into a fog
of fake news.
I don't know
and can't really recall,
what we are doing,
or what can be done.
Rag dolls
don't know
and don't have a say
about being shaken
until everything is torn.
-----------------------------
241118C
------------
The social scene is broken,
down to nothing left,
of whatever used to be,
leaving some memory books,
and everyone hiding out,
the way partisans hid out,
trying to keep secrets hidden
in bombed out cities,
behind shutters and doors.
They are suspected
of polishing their smiles,
without ammunition,
to enable any sort of stand.
The occupying forces
have seized the day,
taking over,
after slaughtering the old guard
in quiet, polite, ways.
Bureaucrats and officials
in control,
of cancellations,
dictating affiliations,
writing you down,
as they put it all in place.
You have become a disorder
refusing to be ordered around
in a rubber stamped dominion.
Tried to meet the new people
but they refused to talk.
No eye contact,
for an old ghost
in a young haunt.
Made out of place
with the new crowd,
makes me invisible,
and urged to disappear.
----------------------------
241118D
-----------
Dredging a thick crowd
the way harbour sludge is dredged,
in vain forays for enthusiasm.
You won't find anything,
that way,
or any which way you turn it.
Plowing a field,
the endless turn down
all turned to fallow.
Your gone to seedy ideas
never found nowhere to grow
into anything special.
Most of the crowd
beaten as sackcloth,
but not quite yet to ashes.
You won't meet anyone,
that way,
or any which way you squirm.
Worms of anxiety,
the persistence of dread,
as to immanent terminations.
Feeling as chilled as corpse flesh
passing the gates of cemeteries,
hearing the voices of gravediggers.
An under the boot feeling,
grinds down hard,
into more disappointments.
A well fed poverty,
still trying to figure out
whether headed toward or away.
You won't be doing anything,
that way,
or any which way you want to.
A jackknifed life
that keeps cutting at you,
whenever you look forward.
Whittles down,
into too common cliches,
that no one really cares about.
-------------------------------------
241118E
-----------
Those mornings,
when it all feels so strange
that you wonder
whether maybe you died
during the night.
None of it is by any choice,
and your life feels like a vast hole
that some giant dick violated,
every time you tried to get up
from being dragged through the dust.
What drug
did they slip into your drink,
when you weren't looking.
All you get are flashbacks
of the worst nightmares repeated.
Your sick imagination
being a chronic, terminal, case.
You cannot change the channels,
and all it does is turn you off
with more of the same.
Filler programming,
stimulating those cravings,
for all that absent content.
An empty hollow place
made larger and larger.
Some wrong road,
taken in pure innocence,
following a deceptive map,
taking you down
to all the wrong turns.
How could you know ?
No one told you.
You still cannot figure it out
in all that random confusion,
that keeps kicking you around.
--------------------------------------
241118F
-----------------
Manic weekends,
of desperate wild eyed need
for getting away from it all,
roller coaster crash into dread
of eternal same,
death come Monday.
A systems failure,
repeated hard landing,
adding to other injuries sustained.
The trajectory proved wrong
for attaining escape into orbit.
A type of hog tied condition.
They keep branding you,
as if someone owns the property.
Herding and prodding you,
dictating where to muck around.
Schweinhunds barking orders:
what to be,believe, to feel, and with whom.
Staked through the heart,
where reality and fiction blur out,
intent to rub you out.
Nobody fixed you up
in any way that would ever matter.
It all becomes affliction without exception.
A total failure as to learning
how to waste your time properly.
Why don't you do what the others do.
Why don't you like what the others like.
There is nothing for you.
No one is like you. No one likes you there.
----------------------------------------------------
241118G
-----------
Never could expect it could happen
that every little bit of success
could prove out as being false leads.
Nothing proves out real or wanted.
Maybe it was a bump on the head,
and landing back in “Kansas”.
They wanted something else,
and you failed to give any
of what they wanted.
Where did the time go ?
Whatever was said
melts into mere alphabet soup.
A skittle of a life,
bowled over to down again,
never knowing what hit it.
Going down,
until they set you up,
to going down again.
A wigwag signal,
jerked around
to warn everyone away.
Train spotters
counting the baggage cars,
being sent away at every station.
Nothing to show for it,
and made to feel more lost
than when anything started.
---------------------------------
Perhaps only delusional people can be truly happy as to how it all goes and
how it really is.
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