Poems: 190513 - May 19th, 2013

[Robert Morpheal]

190513A
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I need a dose of beauty,
as the only cure there is
for a chronic condition,
that can never get any better,
but can always get much worse.

Something wild and high enough,
so it makes me feel as free
as if I have really escaped gravity,
and even if there is no way out,
knowing it is possible to forget.

A mad man
chasing the countryside,
down nameless gravel roads,
where the outbursts of spring
are full of naked sex and death.

Looking into culvert reflections,
and gazing into the eyes
of devil may care field flowers,
as though tomorrow’s secrets
are being whispered there.

It makes me drunk,
with unspeakable desires,
and I know I am looking for someone
who intruded into my dreams,
leaving only an abstract pattern.

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190513B
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We defend our borders,
diving the room into territories.
You remain at one end,
and I remain at the other.

We grant diplomatic audiences
to various people that we know.
Exchanging pleasantries,
sometimes simulating intimacy.

Civilization is all about denial
of various types of access.
It is always about fences and walls,
that keep us distanced.

We feel as though we are in between,
various episodes of war,
playing peace games,
keeping to various divisions.

It is all about wanting
what we know we cannot really have,
without breaking too many rules,
so I avoid saying hello.

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190513C
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She only likes girls,
but always starts a sweet conversation
when she talks to me,
leaving at the first sign of interest.

I begin to wonder
what it would be like
to make love to her,
disguised as another girl.

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190513D
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We have become specialists,
in various types of distance,
and pushing away
what we cannot make a deal with,
is always twice as hard.

All the different deals,
that are being made,
for bread, for wine, for freedom,
and whatever that means to you and I
that others do not understand.

It is always similar to a last stand,
with the enemy advancing,
meaning to break down the gates.
We hold our solitary ground,
waiting for our moment of advantage.

Why is it that you always die to me,
and I end up burying my dead alone.
I am the unheard scream,
in the middle of an empty field,
trying to shatter the sky.

I wanted you, my lovely one,
to come to visit me,
always chancing you might never leave,
though I don’t know your name,
and we were never really introduced.

You are afraid you would be conscripted
into wearing the uniform,
and that there are battle plans and orders,
pertaining to our hierarchy
of desires and commends,

It was not the way I planned it,
but it always turns out the same.
We can blame it on the heavens,
and blame it on the taste for war on high,
in between consuming laughter and poison.

I pour myself another drink,
trying to go comfortably numb.
Anything with a little hint of bitterness
would tend to fit quite nicely,
into the arrangements of experience.

We are all flowers of a sort,
that will not really last all that long a time.
We scurry around the way ants do it,
trying to chance into each other,
but usually you are red and I am black.

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190513E
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All those complications
do not mean much to me.
We see them in the newspapers,
and we read about them,
in books and magazines.

We see them on TV,
which si sometimes worse
than a flood of incessant radio,
and there is nothing that really connects
cyber with romance.

Where you bought your clothes,
or what you did with your hair
does not mean that much to me.
What I always want
is something you don’t like to give.

Do not ask me for any wisdom,
or how to cure the pain of the world.
I do not want to go that deep,
into various means of avoiding you.
I would rather have you silently.

I want to be as primitive as touch,
before words were invented,
ignoring all of your failings
as being too modern to really matter,
in our going beneath the surface of it all.

Let’s suspend all reasoning
and do away with all the rationalizations,
while drowning each other
somewhere in the deep end,
having escaped all of the life guards.

Do not slur your words like that,
because we do not need any more sounds,
breaking up our fragile connection.
It is difficult to abandon
all of the millennia of accumulated repression.

What we were really negotiating
was the primal reductio absurdum,
when nothing else is left of civilization,
stripping away billions of years,
to arrive at the origin of it all.

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190513F
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I am autumn to your spring,
but they are not so very different,
when you consider the details,
and nearly everything is permissible,
outside of the problems of human nature.

There is too much that I want,
that is entirely your’s,
and that you have no way to give.
So we could settle the matter
for somewhat lesser moments of bliss.

You are the pretty one,
delicate and slender,
favoring cherry and apple blossoms,
as alien as the distant stars are alien,
to my lump of clay.

I wanted all of your secrets,
but I hear you gave them to someone else.
It makes it all seem to be an endless war,
where no one ever really wins,
and we are left deciphering the bones.

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190513G
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You know I am
the deformed thing,
no longer in the image
of anyone’s god.

There is nothing perfect
about me,
and I wish you could say
exactly the same about you.

Everything that we see
as being beautiful
is another sort of imperfection
in a universe gone violent.

I want to break with history,
and have you as my lover,
defying the end of the world
in all of its complicated forms.

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190513H
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I keep running my engines,
in every direction,
spinning, turning, and racing.

It is not that I want to get away,
but that I want to hurry to you,
wherever you happen to be.

Everything that I see is not you,
because you would come to me,
rather than remaining distant.

I keep inventing the plot lines,
of various stories,
where we play the leading roles.

Perhaps that is exactly the problem,
that keeps you away from me.
The fact that I have you scripted in.

I would let you improvise
and I would allow you to ad lib,
but some other things you could not change.

It is my own excess of ambition,
that I keep trying to assassinate,
by various too common means.

Perhaps the problem is,
that I will not let you kill it,
when you come as its assassin.

I would rather have you,
in every other way you might imagine,
but never as what you want to be.

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