Softly shifting silver sands, Solid to liquid, Liquid to gas. I just felt, if you never left, None of that comes to pass. Cocky glibness, middle class, Christmas to windows, Windows to glass. I just sat aside, never asking, What do you say to the fairer sex? You're everything I've ever dreamt? Well, I find there's just none left, Nothing but adventures, And acceptance tests. Coffee drinking, ginger snaps, Trauma to forgiveness, Forgiveness until collapse. You're everything I ever dreamt, I'd do anything to bring you back, Like an eye that stares ahead, Tears roll down my face again. I'll never be the things I lack, I'll never change, skin like that, Only grows with age. Salt to water, Water evaporates.
Best dressed, twelve steps, Yes, Yes... I hear you again. All spells in the end cast death: Glass tears the flesh, Mirror bears the self. Upon an iris fairer sex, Fake friend, fake friends, Upon a whitened feather bed. What next? All the white dissolves to red.
Red about the hands, Red about demands, Red a henhouse lacks. Red, ten ounce glass, Half gin, half cognac. So it's red inside, out, Red from front to back.
Stares across the sheet of ice... Ningen, it lives! My fear subsides, Human eyes, inhuman smile, alive... it's alive! A light, like a flight, is a trial... Neat circles and straight lines! Figures, like a flight, need a pilot, Skies above have no time or pride. A night, like an iron spike, island, Eye's iris, thick thighs or curtness, Always keep a place and purpose. Unlike the Ningen, which flies... Just hopes to last another lifetime, Like longing stares into a glass of rye, Fish in the ocean or the turning tide. What falls from the sky? What god divines? What god provides? What father decided? Despite what he tries, like a Ningen child, Like looks across tables at what he despised. Like a fucking guy who likes to get fucking high, Although he decides, he decides, he decides... His mind often trailed nonsense, then he cried, Like a little baby, Ningen child that he hated inside.
A rabbit runs free, in the past, Toward nothing it finds meaning. Fish of streams, pivot teeth, Laughter, tongue chatter, sea. By the brine they find peace, And man, king of beasts. Man forms groups, Parts in two, like lips, The bartender and you. Glass tightly in a grasp, Like a woman's clasp, Like a rabbit in a trap, Wiggle dance, calls, Nobody calls back. Like man, cash advanced, Wiggle dance, calls, Calls, nobody calls back. That man can run like a rabbit, Dance like a rabbit, Hears like a rabbit, Fears the language of diagrams, Candles and passwords. He describes freedom, devoid of it's traps, Talking about assholes out of sadness and anger. He tries to understand, too foolish in banter, Expanding his mind with standards that matter, His reaction barely examined, rather managed, Inside he feels his wiggles, the dance begins, What can exist, he thinks as a passing thing, Kicks and springs his feet, never hears a ring.
There are chunks in that soup, and cubes, Mashed potatoes in there somewhere too. All around me, the café's chatter: The onion has a story to tell And the broth, of course, is not merely gone, It has been completely transformed. In the shadow of the dark glass, I see my friend's eyes smile at me. My sister has written this poem As a way to explain something She cannot easily say aloud. After the last stanza, She writes the line "We never lose our past selves." This poem is an Articial Intelligence re-interpretation of "Flesh, Pt 1" by Gordon Haggerty.
Phalanx, already made plans with Ahab. Enemies, whales , their emails: 'save as'. Eventually their money exchanges hands, A ribcage cracks, a heart swells so thick. Revenge, already made plans, rain dance, Polearms for the bad man, stained glass. Both man and animal inevitably acquiesce, The old barn will fall upon the sand.
One last deal, a man's feet, Glass sharp as steel, Half free, half demand, Protect land from the sea. Footing, Looking up, Good enough, discuss, Bullshit words, wooden result. All I can see is the head: Bad feeling in the bed, If only I could fold my hands, Lean, sleep and dream. The chaos I would see.
Winters of sleep, a white canvas, broken dreams, cut sharp like shards of glass. Day-blush, but graceless eyes wide opened, anxious and helpless. Raindrops on the glass, hangover, reality, facts, as the window cracks, distant memories of what once was.
Be selective, He professes, In a legal setting, Weak, pathetic, The rich and famous, Who knows these things? Like beetles wrestling, Where is a decent ending, By either spelling, Life only glass compelling.
Open lies, a world full, Ocean tides, border known, Mapped upon a mobile phone, Burning eyes, wait in line, A door, for more control; Face comes first, defines, Then maybe later stones. Which would be more alone? Sitting German in Lederhosen, Burning all my former clothes, Formal close, cutting ties; Or a heart of glass, love inside, Which fights a world, nothing like?
Throw back the covers on the incessant redundancy of another day. Putting in time for a world we no longer believe in, if ever we truly did. ...Them rose-tinted glasses were long-ago shattered... Our dedication repaid With more stolen hours Coming home with less time To spend with ourselves, Or perhaps those we purposely surround ourselves with, Than we’ll spend talking to ceiling tiles in the dark later on. Droning away the limited hours, The constant pull of a thumb , —Refreshing— Giving our ❤️s away In an opinionated match game Finger-fucking ourselves to sleep Just to say we felt alive Before succumbing to darkness With a see-you-later sayonara Whispered into black, Just like the onyx air pixels we’ll be counting later to lure heavy eyelids back into a much-too-finite slumber ...Or maybe the fluffy white bastards will do the trick Whatever helps you sleep at night... Next day, the inbox the same, Full of spam mail we unsubscribed to ages ago That somehow keeps rearing ugly heads, hydra-like with a pretty new name every time, to keep us believing in the possibility that this particular lovesick prince will be our salvation. DELETE to clear our foggy heads While trying to remember which ones are the liars. The mirage keeps on shifting. Repeat, repeat, World keeps on turning, pulling us along, A child’s toy on a string. But what if, for a moment, We turn away from from the unending axial spins, Sidestep the scythe again, seek out the sunrise... Find the beauty brave souls! Crack open that Earth-shaped geode and search out the wild world within And you know what... Go buy you a new pair of those pretty pink shades
“Wake Up” Ahh, the unexpected depression of waking up to greet another day This menial mundane monstrosity Shaded in varieties of gray Sloughing through begrudged routines, Caged in by an endless checklist Punctuated only by commas. Collecting “cherished moments” On your camera roll To say the day was a happy one. Hiding behind the infernal screen, A spyglass to a world you don’t even want But hold onto anyway with white-knuckled grip, Afraid that reality won’t measure up To this life stickered with fantasy labels And you wonder when the dreaming stopped, Probably that moment you realized you still hadn’t woken up a superhero, Or that unicorns don’t exist outside of fairy tales When tomorrows bled into yesterdays And you looked back in wide wonder Questioning how you collected so many rings in your trunk And pondering where all the whimsy went Chasing shadows of what was And what could have been, Gazing into the abyss of what-ifs Unnecessary self-induced miseries. A waste of numbered moments. Time that could be spent counting freckles that bridge across tiny noses, And listening to the relentless chatter Of a little heart that has not yet been broken, And who still believes in the maybes. I see you little souls. For you, I awaken.
Noble steed, noble land, From ovum to the fields. One dances, never glances, Until glasses conceal. Test taker, what is fate? My eyes no longer make it. Stare into the distance, And see the same. Tomorrow is a little late.
Concept: I am a shooting star, crumbling and burning and falling and falling and falling Don't go back to sleep. Insomnia: faded lipstick, new blues, and morning sea glass. Don't go back to sleep. The summer heat has faded into fall. An autumn picnic in the park— I will love myself despite the ease with which I lean towards the opposite. The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep.
Could I just wish? To be, Mired forever in my thought, Cubs would fish it seems; Would one list, to be not? On the fixtures glass, Alike one's heart, an ass. Like a bandage wonderful, Placed over a chest, Healing hearts impass, Task feeling, impossibly vast. Please come back, Please come back. For all I want, Is what lover's lack. Could I just wish? I could, Fish of this river forever, Desiring one lost, to be not. Would she list her lover first? I would think so, deserved For I have been gone, A decade and more, lustrum.
They write light of my writing, Erudite Facebook, liars' rights, Poetically I am but humble, Penning comedies of tribe. Unlike, Unlike, Unlike, Unlike my peers, I replied. Despite fears and sighs, My stride upright, austere. Alas, long grass, an axe, Tomorrow fills, fellow actors, Craft jazzy, played by amateurs, Demanding average. Eyes glassy and skills assay, Alas, follow mass, a bass, Screaming of typeface, in your face.
Sheep are brainwashed fools Blind to truth within the truth Put jade coloured glasses on Undistort the view Saw it in your neighbourhood? Call in to the news Heard your neighbours arguing? Call in for the troops Acting as we're wise and old Ladies on the stoop Nag and nag and nag some more Until all is good Sheep are awful neighbours Imagine if you would To baa and baa and then Be still misunderstood