So much for meaningful dreams that I had.
They were just wishes wasted by a lad
Who believed too much, too little knowing
Dreams are bullshit made to keep you going
Until you wake up a true hard knocks grad.
You think it’s dramatic? Maybe a tad.
Perhaps these days being lost is a fad.
With speculation, old age is showing—
So much for meaningful.
It’s too bemusing, too trite to be sad,
Too catastrophic, imposed by the mad:
Symphonies played for nuked shadows glowing
Have nothing on grieved seeds I’ve been sowing,
Which grow to demonstrate everything’s bad.
So much for meaningful!
#
Our exit signs are popular in red,
Although people have trouble getting out.
Signage must service the sound solemn dead.
It’s a new market; wrap that ’round your head.
They need directions; many are about.
Our exit signs are popular in red,
But we can make them in bright green instead,
If such a color pleases them, no doubt.
Signage must service the sound solemn dead.
You should forget all the lies you’ve been fed
About zombies—horrid things make one shout—
Our exit signs are popular in red
Because we all know right where we’re headed.
All the sound go, live or not, in one rout.
Signage must service the sound solemn dead
Because we need them restored, for we dread
Rapturous moments, an Ending with clout:
Our exit signs are popular in red;
Signage must service the sound solemn dead.
#
Maybe and Maybe-Not lived in a tree.
They had a stunning mode of relation;
Living for them moved too decisively.
Better to linger introspectively
Until one hears a clearer vocation:
Maybe and Maybe-Not lived in a tree
That forked at the trunk, quite a sight to see,
Remarkable in symbolization—
Living for them moved too decisively,
And each side of the fork couldn’t decree
Whether the tree had stood since Creation.
Maybe and Maybe-Not lived in a tree
Haggling over possibility
And whether a thing could change its station:
Living for them moved too decisively,
Yet each of them inched toward certainty—
Out on the branches, a safe location?
Maybe and Maybe-Not lived in a tree.
Living for them moved too decisively.
#
When did the atmosphere get thinner here,
And when did things get hot, and when my crop
Of hope drooped dead, when did I run in fear,
Burning red, and when did the cage door drop?
How did the air get so heavy, how did
My store of juice go dry, how does a harp
By harping sound like heaven, which I hid,
Knowing how you like your razor blades sharp?
Why the acid ever oozed like autumn,
Why the cages slid, why the maximum
Joys hurt, why I always kiss the bottom:
Why is music inside the cranium.
Answer nothing like a groove unwinding.
Answers groove with nothings wound and blinding.
#
I’ve heard rumors about feelings of trust.
Asset with many—with loved ones, a must—
Foundation for buildings to stand the years—
Powerful enough to conquer all fears—
People about it have certainly fussed.
Maybe Nurse dropped me, a baby concussed
Who felt too anxious about being trussed
And baked and eaten alongside some beers—
I’ve heard some rumors.
The thing with trust is that it’s boom or bust,
Which means you can’t trust trust, or you’ll be cussed.
Think of all too many wasted careers
Spent thinking rich folk will pay for arears
And you’ll know why trust arouses disgust.
I’ve heard some rumors.
#
You know, when you want to stand up and cheer
For the ones you didn’t think would make it,
For the ones you didn’t think could take it,
You know, when you want your hands up, here, here!
You know, when you want to cover your face
From the ones you said would never matter,
From the ones who watched you getting fatter,
You know, when you wallowed in your disgrace!
You know, you’re a fake and you’ve been exposed
By the ones you thought couldn’t ever tell,
By the ones you thought you could always sell,
You know, the lies and hate you always imposed!
We know what it means when you stand and cheer:
It’s the start of your well-earned life of fear!
#
I’ve had about enough of my dark turns,
Twisting revelations, even slow burns—
There’s a little devil inside who yearns
For happy endings, where everyone learns.
Boy meets girl, or boy, and that’s okay, too,
They get advice from some bat in a shoe,
Go to a party, big showdown to-do,
Knots get tied, all is well, and then they screw.
The pattern works well for all kinds of views,
And it’s far better than watching the news.
So go on, write it! There’s nothing to lose.
Dignity’s fictions are bombs to diffuse.
Nothing’s more common than bitter writing.
Give it big tits to make it inviting.
#
I write like no one’s reading. Liberate!
Maybe a stranger will stumble, connect.
Why would I intend to communicate
Except with this stranger on intersect?
This is my private exhibit for you.
It’s not for my friends or my family.
I want to make sure you think this thing through.
I want to provide you a part of me.
If you accept you’ll own me forever.
I’ll own a condo inside of your brain.
We will travel the whole world together.
You’ll drive me home, or I’ll drive you insane.
Welcome, my friend, to freedom I’m giving.
Me in your head is a way of living.