“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 eyelids and see how
They are closed to the public
All they see is my f a c e.
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 this three-fold tune.
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
Sacrifice:
We are more religious
Than we believe.
take
me
to
(that wordless place)
the pen I cannot escape
transcendent
ancient
as
the
f
a
c
e
I am tired of putting meaning
On meaning things.
Wake!
Crumpled sheets.
Shoe laces.
Double-check mental list.
Think to pause
(note: not pause to think)
drink
eat
me go; me leave
(wait!)
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
less words
=
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? Unreliant?
Oh where are the ancients when
They are needed!
Sweet perfume
And melody
What hand can stir thee?
Just pushed along by
Many men who are only
Noticing what has always been.
Why so interested? It’s
Just existing.
No big deal.
Breathe.
Laugh.
Smile.
“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
out
close your eyes
and clench your teeth
like a fist
soon, you hope, you’ll
swear that it never even
existed
(butit’sjustcrowdedoverhere
inthiscornerandit’sclaustroph
obic,blurtingobscenitiesbeca
useitreallycan’tcontrolanythi
ngit’sfeelinganymoreandally
ourdoingispushingitmoreand
moretowardstheedge…
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
tension
at that thought.
How he suddenly went from a “generally
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 now things are somuchmorecomplicated”
(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 rarely played,
Though they play.
We suffer from
Denial
Maybe all suffering
Could be
Summed
In
This very
Black and white
Word:
Denial.
But I guess that’s the funny thing
About words
They twist and turn
Like a haucking
Gagging tongue
Too swollen for it’s mouth.
Here, our words reside,
Hushed.
(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
Mankind
Will ever
Ever
Know.
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 pirouette?
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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