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The Insufficiency of Words

(to Express What I Mean)

The Insufficiency of Words (to Express What I Mean)


Like A Child

Again unsettled

“what is this,” I bellowed.

“The swollen soul so heaving!”

I cannot escape this reasoning

This circular conflict

Of my desire pulses

Like the very veins of mine

Pulse with life.

This is the lie I’ve called love,

A swelling of the soul,

“A swelling that must cease or die!”

Ancient evil of mind, many minds of men


I ache and hate thee won.

You are my omen,

My ill-fate of an unfaithful conscience

Insufficient for your work of making

Me a man;

Fellow fall and be gone,

Ancient rebellion:

My obnoxious right arm

“Sever me!” It cries

in mocking vanity.

“scorn you, I do” say under my voice

“but it’s so attached,” shouldn’t I leave

it like that?

Ancient evil, oh, scorpion of day,

The sting, this serum, what

A mad mix in me.

That I would rot and fall, this

Arm that cannot save—

I am Jacob’s child, and I

Intend to keep it that way.

But it’s here it stays,

In my intentions, in my enduring

Days, like the folly of all things,

Reason and Faith play

Like children.


There is a Notion, Outside of this, Should You Choose it.

“Unless your faith is firm,

I cannot make you stand firm.”

Ugh! The ancient practice of originality

Plagues us

I pray and I forget

Or better yet

I practice forgetfulness

On a circuit track

Like the sun runs it’s course;

So pray I forget.

And pray hard, dear brother,

Because our minds have known

More than we’ve intended to know.

Scrape the passion

From behind my [our?] eyelids

They are closed to the public

All they see is my face.

Everything I hate,

Is what they make of me.

“He’s so serene” “So peaceful”

“So self-assured”

Do not lie to me anymore!” I yellow

Cannot escape.

The future licks it’s lips

A prostitute.

An addict.

A place

Where fears might come true

And dreams are spattered

At father fear’s feet

Like some sort of


We are much more religious

Than we believe.





(that wordless place)

the pen I cannot escape









I am tired of putting meaning

On meaning things.


Crumpled sheets.

Shoe laces.

Double-check mental list.

Think to pause

(note: not pause to think)



me go; me leave


Have we lost our minds completely?

Have we completely lost our minds?

Rank to me

The structure of things

And I will show you

What unimportant means

more free>

can anyone define freedom for me?

Seriously lacking anything

Completely necessary

For completing,

It mocks.

Hour stranguage ist empozidle

(funnely you should mention it!)

that’s exactly what I was tinkering

to say I just couldn’t _____ the

______(s) for it.

silly? Trite? So it seems

to be in conversation, affirming

what we just said. Inefficient?

Insufficient? Unrelient?

Oh where are the ancients when

They are needed!

Sweet perfume

And melody

What hand can stir thee?

Just pushed along,

Many men who are only

Noticing what has always been.

Why so interested? It’s

Just existing.

No big deal.




“Hey, come’on, why still unsettled?”

(it’s because these questions

beg to be asked!) but you would

never say that

Obvious, isn’t it, how simple

the simple life can be.

Yet somewhere, far away,

A voice is screaming

like nails on a chalkboard

or a horror movie

you attempt to squeeze


and clench your teeth

like a fist

soon, you hope, you’ll

swear that it never even

existed (butit’sjustcrowdedoverhere







till one day, on a normal morning, everyone arrives, happy and good as usual, with

their coffee cups and forgotten-to-brush-in-a-rush teeth, stained yellow from the drink.

Mid-afternoon you realize Hal never showed for the one o’clock as you glance at his

Desk he kicks down the doors with and AK-47 shoots everyone who ever

smiled at him.

(there’s some unnerved


at that thought.

How he suddenly went from a “genuinely

Good person” to “hell bent and wicked”

We all are Baptist preachers at the right

moment. Silly, no? to think we know

those around us, to joke, to poke fun,

to spin and speak of politics in some

residential limerick that found us on the

internet and now is shaping our very

thought and decision. And we blame

our government!

When can fault be fault.

Maybe when truth is truth.

Truth, the ancients seemed to get it,

“but things now are somuchmore

complicated” it almost says itself,

maybe we’re just further from it.

profound? I doubt it.

Profundity is never what

It seems to be.

Things are

Much worse.

Sorry to be the bearer

Of bad news.

If any of us really did get better, we

Would only die of depression and

Lonliness, worn away by the contrast

Of us from fellow men. Dangerous,

Dangerous is goodness, and any notion

Of perfection

Can cause the mind to play games

And now, such games,

Are never played,

Though they play.

We suffer from


Maybe all suffering

Could be


To be



This very

Black and white



But I guess that’s the funny thing

About words

They turn and twist

Like a haucking

Gagging tongue

Too swollen for it’s mouth.

Here, our words reside,


(and many once pointed raised hands

fall; their answer echoes against

the walls of their hearts)

silence is profound.

Allow it to sneak in

To come to fruition

And you

Will find

The greatest

Wrestling match


Will ever



The day that Jacob became

Israel, what ends to him

We owe, the moan of

Michelangelo, the epiphanies

Of Thoreau,

What rote?

What song?

What pirrioette?

Can lay claim to boast of this?

That he who hath wrestled with

God, is he that will endureth.))

Isaiah 7:9


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