prose

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.

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.