Posts for June 3, 2021 (page 7)

Never—by the time I rise the morning and the dawn have already left.

They’ve gone to that place in which their grip, one after the other, takes hold.

I have instead wrestled with the dark, the warmth, until one of us wins.

It happens as I rise to surface, gasping the air which dreams withhold.

When among the wicked I shake, then shower, shave; day takes hold of me.

I connect to brothers’ silence shared under the chapel’s blue window.

A command without words, measuring what will be lost without my presence.

Then Another takes hold of my shaken self to know and be embraced.

Remembering,
trains lonesome call, as a kiss from a lover

Remembering,
stars wink through large oak windows

Remembering,
ceiling fans quiet turn

Remembering,
healing in a soft four poster bed

Remembering,
why I came here

Remembering,
unsentletters hours filling the space

Remembering,
love without decimation

Remembering,
weak search for softness to rest

Remembering,
every hug preserved 

morning’s first
bird sings

a catch
in my throat

I don’t know how
to write

the poem 

An incarnation of avarice,
I’ve stumbled through this like a good for nothing horned beast;
Unfit for sacrifice, but anointed and readied nonetheless.
Harrowed and hallowed, hardly worthy,
These sins will prevent that great diety from touching our evergrowing faith.

I’ve taken my veins in vain,
Spilled a season of strawberries onto malnourished soil,
In a land where lips and jaws lock alike,
With discarded nails finding new homes amongst innocent feet.
Praying to unlearn dead scriptures and practice,
In a place more garden than cathedral,
Where muses and musings have newer truer names.

You did not know me today.
It felt like the ultimate betrayal.
I called you Granny,
And you panicked,
Then I panicked.
In my excitement, I misspoke,
Forgot the rules,
Confused you more.
You did not hug me,
Brushed past me like I was a stranger.
I discovered I could hate a disease.
How much more could it take? 

my iris blue haired avatar
stares at me through green dragon eyes
and John Lennon cartoon glasses
…how the universe laughs

This poem is a ryuka.
The form in syllables is 
8/8/8/6

A therapist once told me
There are reported accounts
Of people inducing their own heart attacks
Simply because they believed it would happen
They literally harvested their own pain and suffering
I can’t get the thought out of my head
My therapist would say I’m taking the wrong lesson from that
I would say that he should know his patients better

We built it with the gears of materialism,
protect it with the plates of consumerism,
then we fuel it with some avarice and trap some people inside,
a few hundred thousand to try and keep it running.

We cover all the highways with our trucks and trailers
just to blanket every truckyard with work we can’t get to
because no one really learned what a limited space is.
Abandon all logic and practice some improv.

And all of this before the demand would shoot up
with a pandemic that would lock everybody in their homes.
The machine is too gigantic, can’t turn on a dime,
can’t turn in a mile, can’t turn on a planet.

Got news of a man, a respectable leader
who fell between the gears and got ripped to shreds.
One of his solutions to just one of our problems
bottomed out and started draining company dollars,

but how does one guard against the imminent collapse
from the intractable weightiness of unforeseen growth?
This hopeless man surrounded by cliffs on all sides
had to take a step, which fall could he survive?

He chose wrong, leaving me and the multitudes
to slave away at the whole world’s need to consume.
A suffocation environment, promising little
besides eventual death or soul destruction.

Yet somehow the machine never quite tips over
and most of us find ways to slip between the gears.
We keep it rolling, however labored the giant is,
anonymous heroes of the earth’s rotation.

I fear the day when we discover the force that finally halts us.
We are so ingrained in society that such a heavy impact
could spread out and level everything around us,
for a machine too big to run is also a machine too big to stop.

redo / resign / release / reappraise / resolve / resist /

repeat / reposition / redecorate / recycle / rearrange /

repurpose / replace / restore / resettle / resuscitate /

rehabilitate / reproduce / reclaim / rename / redeem

One day

I’ll stop kissing my knuckles

When you were the one

To make them bleed

I’ll stop feeling sorry for myself

And i’ll stop bolting the door

Behind me when i leave

Out of fear that someone else

Will slip into my brain

I’ll stop taking everything

Straight down like a shot

And i’ll sip on something bitter

And savor the peculiar taste

I’ll stop stitching myself

Back together with scotch tape

And accept the fact

That a part of me will always be missing

And i’ll stop pretending

It will be you

That brings it back

One day

I’ll stop kissing my knuckles

Because they are no longer wounded

They are scarred

And they will never look the same