A Farthing

If you can’t smell the funk,

as others hold their nose,

or you stare towards oblivion

while others take shelter…

If you act with the leisure

of someone with charter,

while the iceberg shifts,

then you are far past

any pleasure

of apologetic consideration.

Throw away your own concerns,

Chaff-out your own failings,

cull your fen….

Strike your concerns against the process.

It exists as always.

You just weren’t looking….

Thoughts and tethers

When words are violence

(and violence is speech)

and speech is dangerous

then we have been muted

without a single touch

of finger to trigger

Schmeenki-peenkii!

My silence

isn’t an absentee ballot,

or forgotten process.

I’ve been living elsewhere.

I’ve been f’ing deep in my own shit.

Life has sapped some of

what passes for passion.

But I’m chilling, presently.

All things being equal,

it’s all A-Okay!

Lol.

No.

But still,

I’m here

…ish.

Vide Corpus

Ready, now

the vultures are here,

and we want them…

They’ll show us

the worst

of ourselves,

in HD.

Someone’s someone

lies under a tarp

and we pretend at decorum

while diving in.

I’m eating dinner.

A helicopter hovers

over a cold child.

Thursday.

Internal

Sorrowful temerities…

Solace has been my shelter.

Some have soldiered on…

I’m not one of them.

I’m still in hiding.

Seek me out

with warning.

Subverse

Buried in the truth

are the details

of its undoing.

Postulates

Oh you sad misguided sacks of shit

If you should ever get what you want

I hope you get what I wish

Heat Lighting

Probability says anything

can be accounted for…

anything.

I’ve drifted through enough decades

to smell

(from a distance)

bullshit.

The worst ideas

have been given

a fresh start

underneath the tutelage

of a waiting adversary.

We let this poison

be made ready.

(We set it against ourselves,

and sheltered it.)

Now we find

the incipient growth

has become a force

beyond our initial fears…

outside our previous bounds.

We must retrace our steps,

rediscover what we thought

of our former selves.

These are our flaws,

honestly earned,

from our misdeeds.

Pick your pillow.

Now we all lie.

Embarcadero a la muerte

I guess the worst of it

is the betrayal

of things once held

dear.

Now I surrender ideals

like a 19th century

baloonist.

Things that were once

so special,

now chucked to the side…

forgotten.

It’s my jetsam.

I’ll bear witness,

to my own failings,

thank you.

Now I navigate

with nothing more

than the arc described

by my discarded ideals…

I can see the path

my failures have described.

I cannot complain.

But

I will.

The Easement

Are we to be

surprised

that

“The temporary”

has lingered enough,

to become

the routine?

This is what we desired,

brought to us

beautifully plated

and prepared,

now we must feast.

We must eat out our hearts

and profess some loyalty,

or risk revealing

a distinct lack

of fealty.

I have grown weary of this

and seek an end

to my banal musings…

still….

I can’t complain,

we’re all AFK,

as far as I can tell:

No longer engaged,

distracted by desire,

compelled to complacency…

equally fucked

and fucking equal.