Category Archives: Poetry

Empty blank dead fish-eyed just like the brain
Sitting up there in some swing
Moving back and forth with those gears churning
Rust against rust

So enraptured by the future and the undefined
the yesterdays and todays are left forgotten
the tomorrows a distant speck, not even
It’s far too much for the current pace of swinging
Back and forth, back and forth slowly steadily

Dead metal chipping away
From this ambitious forwardness—it still treks onward
Enclosed within a shell
Like a turtle who finds land to lay its eggs
Half which are dug up by human children on the beach, a quarter which are eaten after hatching
A quarter that might make it to sea.

Forget first
Then stop remembering in the first place
And keep swinging back and forth
So the world might be washed of color.

Avoid it like the plague
For before you contract it
You’d surely endure a fascinating collection of symptoms
And then die not too promptly later.
Suffering is important
in the complex decision making process—to avoid or not to avoid..

Creeping (hardly) into the bodies of empty humans
Lost to the malady long before their small minds were aware
It is fierce and ruthless
At least in the literal, grueling physical world

There really is nothing quite like avoiding the plague
Nothing so evocative of paranoia and doubt
of irrational inducing madness to stay tied to life
of the massive influence it can extend from earth to sky
Avoidance becomes an art.

And art is something near universally exalted
as some elite practice, beyond lowly clichés
Like avoiding the plague
in but a metaphorical sense.

But when you see friends
burning each other alive to kill a deathless epidemic,
the muse might be especially inspired
darting from corner to corner while holding its lifeline
hoping to capture a reality in all its metaphorical glory
only to die of fever before putting anything into words.

Restart the game
Off and on, an easy click
Blood comes showering down
Life minus one
Again.

Bid the character farewell
Farewell
Here’s the reappearance of a fresh
Quite alive little player for round 2.

Farewell
You distastefully tragic soul
Meeting excessively gruesome end by gruesome end
It’s a wonder you remember it all.

Perhaps we all remember with each reboot
And doesn’t that make this little meeting so pretty
With its decorated ornaments of sparkles and blemishes
Farewell

So he says internally with that look of despair
Farewell
Wishing well both ways
Hoping the cost of a reboot isn’t too high this time.

Ah, dear sir, you are far, far too virtuous of a human

neither one who is disgusted by humanity seeking its destruction,

nor one who loves humanity and must bend souls to hell.

I should call you an angel who only knows good since birth

while we humans have the misfortune of choice.

 

But even an angel would screech in pain

if I plucked its feathered wings from the tendon stitched to its back

if I poked and prodded some knitting needles through its humanoid eyes

if I dragged it down to Lucifer’s abode where it cannot escape decay

they are selfish creatures.

 

You, however are tethered to the ground

in your fortified palace of thoughts, which does not yield nearly as easily.

It rejects the world’s depravity from seeping through its moat

and you—

 

if it is rotting

 

with the comforting and familiar smell of flesh

 

and rats gnawing a path through

 

my face that I see molten

 

                          sliding off, black on the outside

 

ugly pink on the inside

 

so be it, engulf this place in lava.

 

—have betrayed me in the end

because somehow there is a light, a calm, a reassurance

while I am left laughing so hard I’ve forgotten to die.