Where She Got Lost…

Where she got lost, she couldn’t say
She only knows, she’s there –
A thousand million miles away
From almost everywhere

Now, those who’ve never been its pawn –
Depression hasn’t scarred –
Think: rouse yourself, and just move on;
It shouldn’t be that hard

But like a hood over her head
She cannot see to walk;
Well-meaning friends, full-sighted, fed,
Aren’t really ones to talk

Although, she’s grateful that they’re there
Wherever that might be –
She’ll just keep going, breathing air
In hopeless
Expiry

Sic Transit Gloria Nihil

(or “Old Poem, Written Age 18”)

We live in a world full of false attribution,
Where people smear filth and then call it ablution;
Where lies are the most common type of pollution,
And all that gets over are cheaters and cons —

We breathe in the air of congenital aping,
Our souls full of holes that are growing and gaping
While no word of truth from our lips is escaping,
Misleading our brothers and sisters, our pawns —

We die in this place of eternal damnation
Without ever knowing we’re needing salvation;
And wait till the last to feel our consternation,
And only then claiming our crimes to forswear —

We’re buried with all that is totally rotten,
And sooner than later, we’re all but forgotten,
And wrapped in our silks or our nylon or cotton
We still try to speak, but we don’t have a prayer

another great wall

in disrepair, neglected,
emptied out of much of value,
a part of town where you and i
don’t go

in corners made for sitting,
and in windows stark and glaring,
a couple of chip wrappers and
some blow

in kindergarten, once, there were
some gold stars and a ribbon,
a child disremembered
and abjured

in disrepair, neglected,
emptied out of much of value,
beside a wall where nothing is
assured

except that minutes
have to be

endured

Made of Life

The ache that is we couldn’t know
Our eyes could not foresee
It’s everywhere we look it’s part
Of our humanity

Anxiety and panic
Futility and strife
For life is made of failure
And we are made of life

We reach out to the lonely ones
We cast our vision wide
As others too reach out to us
Though left or cast aside

Cacophony and discord
The gun the noose the knife
For life is made of sorrow
And we are made of life

The heartbeat borne in stillness
The pleasure dead and gone
The memory of wonder
That all this still goes on

In secrecy or public
And withal we are rife
The journey each alike is on

What must be made

Of life

Desolate My People Go

The world is dreariness today
The whole dang town seems haunted:
It’s very cold and gray outside
And that’s just how I want it

I like the feeling that I have
That nature doesn’t care;
Beneath the dull immensity
That I’m just barely there

The world is large and heartless,
And is deaf to our demands:
This cold indifference spreads across
All peoples in all lands

And desolate my people go
Behind their walls of stone:
There is no earthly paradise
We’re all
The hell
Alone


 
(“Desolate My People Go” – 12/31/2014)

The Perfect

She grew up in the perfect home,
And learned their perfect ways
Of flawlessness in imagery
Through golden-colored days.

And people think she has it still,
In life, and mien, and dress —
So why is it that she’s so filled
With perfect

Emptiness?

How Will I Hide Today?

How will I hide today?
If I could jettison this heart,
I think that just might be a start:
The callous live and walk and breathe
And seem so oft to be at ease —
I want to feel the more a little less
I must confess.

Make sure that no one knows…
This is the art I’ve mastered now,
As I explore the subtle how,
And glide through every harmless scene
With my innocuous, dull mien,
Presenting someone here who isn’t there,
Or anywhere.

So I will skate this ice.
The day is pale, the sky is gray,
And I was meant to be this way:
The summer turns inside to cold,
And what’s ‘experienced’ but old?
How will I hide myself today?

And who cares

Anyway