| Poems: 130719 - July 13th, 2019 |
|
| Robert Morpheal (morpheal@yahoo.com) |
2019/07/13 00:09 |
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Subject: Poems: 130719 - July 13th, 2019
From: Robert Morpheal <morpheal@yahoo.com>
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120719A
------------
Power of suggestion
to mislead
and the tick tock
bomb out
crap shoot of life
getting loaded.
The prevalent mood
of don't know
and don't care.
Be sorry if you do
anything that takes it
out on you.
It all does
one way or another.
Crawl back down
your own hole
licking wounds
ripening.
Soft at the centre
rotten insides
forgotten has been
that trickles down
side lines
of a new crowd.
No scoring
except to separate
tear off
and condemn
undocumented
underground rituals.
The body politic
unresponsive
to stimuli
pronounced dead
at the scene
by a stunt double.
Not a word said
about plans
shredded
and incinerated
proves anything
can be eviscerated.
Takes guts
to be suggestive
eliciting faint reactions
of pack it up
and ship it out
nowhere in particular.
Not quantified
by any standard measure
there is recycling
to consider.
A massive pile up
on the news channel.
You never were
a real part of that scene
painted over
and covered up
an undercoat
of no particular colour.
How did it happen
to end up mimeographed
inside out suicide
turned to dishonourable
and discharged
from rectal orifices.
Shit happens.
News at eleven.
Try to get a word in
by means of thin cracks
that smear you
along the wall.
No one hears you
if you scream,
but try to whisper
gets you jumped
taking you down
heavy and hard.
Should have been afraid
that it would be
that extremely lonely,
not sticking
to the flypaper
with everyone else.
-----------------------
120719B
------------
Rolodex of blanks
and those presumed
dead for any
intents and purposes.
A pass through,
pass on, passed over
sort of clutter full
of unanswered queries.
Nothing left
to squeeze out of it
as concerns connections
loosely legitimated.
Passes as knowledge,
in a loosest sense
of nothing memorable
and knowing they might ask.
Try to recollect
various happenstance
patchworks
resembling common sense.
Does not make a believer
of a skeptic
trying to pigeon hole
on a tight ass time line.
The wind picks up
large pointless sheaves
of paper work
intending to sort it out.
Not up to the quality
of decent bum wad
but creative coffee stains
remain defiant.
A year spent in a mortuary,
trying to be convincing
as to the lack of a toe tag
and no one noticed.
------------------------
120719C
-----------
Writing a maniacal dirge
of no one anywhere around
with whom you could withstand
spending any time with.
The ongoing private wake
for what keeps on dying
that we try to keep alive
despite the do not resuscitate.
Sort of thing that happens
when it isn't going
as to getting started up
at something more interesting.
It is not a lack of the right job
but maybe that larger lack
of the right world
having survived history.
The toughest subject
that few are good enough at
history always reminds you
as to what you have lost.
Mostly glad to be rid of
except for what you never knew
because you were always too late
and that show was already over.
Flicking the channels around
trying to tune in on something
that might rivet attention
the way a lover could.
The sort of thing happening
that makes you want to break bread
in the broken down afternoon
forgetting what time it really is.
No one is on call
for that type of emergency
leaves the choices far too few
and too far in between.
The long list of things\
that are not getting done
rings like a choir recital
before another pointless sermon.
The motivation is gone
leaves a sense of impending depression
as to this or that tedious substitute
for being headed off completely.
A sort of recurrent beheading
that means all bets are off
folded up tight
into multiple versions of fat chance.
History says it was never that hard
that you would never hear from anyone
and part of you is still bleeding
like a severed limb.
-----------------------
120719D
-----------
They lie to you incessantly
as to withheld permissions.
It amounts to more wastes of time
attempting some sort of freedom.
Part of you has given up
and part of you still wants to escape.
Blank eyed stares at the ceiling
from a flat on your back position.
They paralyzed you
with their sharp comments
cutting out your nerve
turning thoughts limp and flaccid.
Various segments of data
having been deleted
leaves nothing to gossip about
making you forgotten.
Nowhere to run away to,
but part of you is still running.
You wish you could move in
with your furtive imagination.
What remains of relationships
seems to be phantom pains
where you were scalpeled
then sewn up short.
Numb in the headlights strangle
of what they seem to want from you.
Feeling like a rag doll
getting thrashed around.
Shock waves across hemispheres
resemble international lobotomies.
All the best has been scooped out
of the collapsed into hollow middle.
Realize you were a token specimen
put on rare display.
No one stopped in long enough
for it to make any difference.
The museum of your flesh being closed
after a long list of complaints.
You try to embalm yourself
in hopes of further preservation.
---------------------------------------
130719A
------------
Dull whip of need
thwacks against
leaving emotional welts.
Another sting
disgorging venom
burns under.
Parchment
thin skinned
gathering of consonants.
Nothing pronounced
in torn tongues
winged syllables.
Ritual aborted
in the final seconds
before lift off.
Crashes back
into spittle
lump of earth.
Muddy hands
caressing a fragment
of desire.
------------
130719B
------------
A long time
since the crowd
washed away.
Ghost footprint
impressions
of inserted phrases.
Litter
on the beach
slap, slaps memory.
The infiltration
into enemy territory
ended years ago.
Cocktail shots
aiming to kill
the anticipation.
Came down
crashing
into wanting.
----------------
Some more desolation ditties.
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