short poem 2/12/24

-

the burden in my hand
Wishing I could start, anew
I know it's raining again
yet, without an answer
I feel the need
        to express
            some consolation prize

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

What if Oedipus was my dad? (a reframing of the past.)

-
Image
                                          "To start with, here is a list of things I hate." -Tim Rogers.   I based my life on a lie, but the reality is there is a new mode of expression... It is irony through irony as sincerity or as it used to be called sarcasm.   Tim Rogers was my hero who I stalked (I didn't actualy stalk him I @ mention him four or five times on Twitter). then one day after a spree of @ mentions he @ mentioned me back, with a napalm bomb of reality, just the two-letter word "hi" and I was destroyed.   The important thing here isn't that Tim Rogers owned me (which he did!) it is that for some reason this articulate funny man brings out the inner troll in internet losers like me in a way that is embarrassing to the species.   It is li...
Read more

Grace of God make us Holy.

-
  With nothing but a pound of flesh and the look in your brown eyes. sometimes I feel a confession of hearing this prayer of delight.   hide a reaction, begging for trust that I care for the sensual... not to be consumed by this lust as you undress like a ritual.   your pale nakedness honors god. A prayer full of confusion as much as your song is a bond, please articulate this lesson...   as your spread naked to see your body has a temple's warmth. A hallelujah song of the dream inside there has been a storm.   You're the bread of this church... in gratitude, I drink the wine. there is a fire but hope hurts. You're a light leading the blind.   Your music is a heartfelt drum like a war-cry fighting darkness. Victory rests on your tung. Your wet labor will bear witness.   The reflecting light of the moon though it is the light's glory between your legs, I am consumed... by the grace of g...
Read more

The impossible task

-
I am Feeling like I am already dead I want to know, why? is there no hope that this life will improve or is it a posture? or worse   can       I         not            face the                  sincerity The unironic bleakness of trying to be honest To myself for once This isn't the time for rhyme and meter whatever time it is it is close to midnight The glow from the screen of my laptop as I type honesty is respecting your time without it becoming the business of being a door-to-door salesman of framing every indignity I have seen this week betrayal, coercion, and goodbyes of being blamed     and threatened without even knowing why I keep telling myself The impossible task of this poem Is being interesting but sane
Read more