Sorry…

Well, I set out with this

to apologize

but I’m already thinking: Me

and how I fucked it all up

It was my mistake to make

You played your part on this stage

I missed the cue

You set the pace in this dance

My feet misstepped

You’re the one who smiled

I was too busy looking at the camera

And now you’re not

Well, you’re not here

I never gave you the reason to be

And you

You’re happy or something

I think of you leaning back

in a summer dress

wine glass in hand

mid-guffaw with class

Or in your jeans

at some downtown bar

a band plays in the back

the stool next to you

empty at last…

 

But what would I do with it?

What I didn’t before?

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Sorry…

Psuedo Political Bile

Fuck you!
I hold no respect
for the spineless
so willing to subjugate
the weak without cause
It’s one thing to hold power
and another altogether
to be a piece of shit
With children starving and dying
why are we building and “striving”
for another oil pipeline
We should’ve reached a whole integer
in the Kardashev Scale by now
but it wouldn’t pad the wallets of the 1%
or help their stranglehold on control
“Oh no! We can’t let the people be free.”

Okay Pharaoh,
We don’t need your White-Man Caliphate
LET MY PEOPLE GO!

Fuck you proletariat
And you bourgeoisie
Fuck this whole
Dichotomy
We need this new
thought process progressive
to sweep away the two
this binary regressive

Fuck that!
I will be tempered in the fires of my own bellows
not in the woes from without
the soiled core of society
the spoiled throes of naivete
with walls I never needed or asked for
kept in line with the baseline whore
I will beckon the new age
even progressives couldn’t imagine
for they too are kept in line
I will destroy the empty labels of this world
The binary dichotomies of control

They try to paint their
mortal coils
as though they’re
more than just
this
expanded food-poop machine
YOU’RE DYING TOO!

“Be all you can be”
Yeah, be their prostitute
to feed their babies’ trust funds
Stop making me see through
your Black-Brown-Yellow glasses
and let me see my friends as friends
and my enemies as fellow human beings

Psuedo Political Bile

Dylan and Molly

She calls out to him in the car
Brakes slam and they’re parked outside
I peel back the blinds and I’m injected
Into another life of romantic strife
But I’ve seen this all already
Like a rerun of an old show
The details are foggy
But the plot’s all there

The players take their place on stage
The dialogue lies analogue to what is prologue
But like a wisp to whet the teeth in feast
She’ll sunder his soul for iniquities perceived
Inequitous to their lustful “us”

And he’ll obfuscate his feelings further
within to hide inside from himself all his fright
His insecurities insidious obscured by ignorant bliss
And with a defeated stroll he’s kept under control
and in line with the players’ march as they exit

The curtains fall, the blinds are shut
The engine starts and the tires peel them away

Another shadow among the trees of the forest

Dylan and Molly

I Am The Moon

I am the moon, scattered amongst the ebb and flow

All of the shiny pieces to be taken in, collected

Admired, from afar as so many have dreamt, and intimately as only the bravest few have tread

Though I am stuck in this earthly embrace, this dance in space

That princely parapet with whom only dreamers in the night connect

I Am The Moon

Tempered

Tempered in the fires of society
you’ve been kept in line
within the confines
that they’ll allow
between their predefined
thresholds of deviation
Anything less or more
is left to be moored
by the police-authority

Because you wouldn’t play their game
you refused to pursue
their evangelical
greed for the purse, the money
the proposal of the self
before anything else
You’d rather burn Wall Street
than to walk it in stride
alongside the “apex” life
with an all-too-socialized bride

What? You think your’re original?
That Greek gem,
The Roman puppy,
Your favorite contemporary
have all done this already
You’re stuck sucking from their teat
You just take in their art
process it on a whim
then shit it out with your own
petty pseudo-witty veneer

You’ve let them contain you
in this transparent cage
though less like the diamond you’d prefer
and more like the glass ceiling you’d defer
right back to those who created it
from their palaces up on the hill
they look down without
seeing those they forced supplicant
living in blissful ignorance

We could burn the hill down
melt this rustic cage
if only I could escape this maze
this amaranthine labyrinth
that’s so tragically beautiful
the way it captures my gaze
soon to spit me out
from within its spinneret
in being and mind, wholly new
as a zombie like all of you

Tempered

Sappho — Catullus — Zachor

Here, the one who is god-like
exceeding great cosmic power
because they command your attention
although not through force
Your laughter — only it can wrench
my heart from depression darkest
For when my gaze meets yours, my voice has
forgotten its place
Tongue swallowed whole, and within
lava bubbles to the pores of my skin,
thunder of the gods cannot be heard, the veil
has concealed my eyes
Tepid sweat envelops, my person rattled
throughout, as bereft as the dead
as I am and inert — as the dirt
covering this Earth
Torpor, Zachor, is your enemy true: torpor
pushes you to the worst of your extremes:
torpor, through the ages, has felled those once of bravado
and celerity
That this Lillith has lilt your heart from within
burning, but not just at both, yet from all ends
her hands pull at the ashen wicks – threads – strings
to this heart’s content
Sappho — Catullus — Zachor

The Solstice’s Gentle Whisper

And when you leave
you’ll have been another mistake
that I made through inaction
through these years
blowing in the breeze
as a dried dead husk
What I will miss the most
as with so many others
is the idea of you
the pillow intimacy
and soft words unsaid
only ever imagined

I need the heat of summer
I need to feel her breeze in my beard
that wisp that taps my shoulder
haunting me through my waking dreams
arousing me to this fever pitch

That gesture you made
as you walked away
like on a hot dry day
being bathed in the sea
an incongruous ebb
amongst the never ceasing flow
Or like the breeze
with the scent of summer flowers
against the torrential showers
whisking about with ease
this last bastion of hope
from the unthreading rope

I need the summer comfort
I need to feel her caress; her breeze
that hand on the back like a salve
unknowingly pushing me onward
despite all this resistance

And when this grows
ever too cold to bear
after summer has left her snare behind
to turn this sanguineous
stream frozen still
with only hapless hope
Will she return
to this land once more
bringing with her
the time when again
hills are verdantly beaming
bright against the sky

The Solstice’s Gentle Whisper