May 24: Meaningful but Melodramatic, Exit Signs, Maybes, etc.

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.



Talking to you is way more interesting than talking to myself. What do you think?

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