Poems: 290521 - May 29th, 2021

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Robert Morpheal

May 29, 2021, 2:21:04 PM5/29/21

It is all in
or nothing
all in
your head
she said
he said
they said.

We are all in
they said
to anyone
who was out
and not going
to get in
no way no how.

Out of your own
blooming mind
they said
when you tried
to get out
to getting
in on it

ever happens
but people
come and go
in and out
out and in.

Revolving doors
of the open
states of mind
and holed up
dark corners
of roughed up
bedroom cultures.

for something
not had
and cannot
give in
midst of converse
into capitulation.

An excavation
to be filled in
back filled
with raw earth
and animal

The demands
for novelty
fleshing up
story lines
commons themed
and subjected
to disinterest.

Frightened mice
crumb chase
played out
by their own
black cats.

Black cats
of the mind
crossing over
vague paths
the new way
of all things
chased down.

Gripping yarns
raise eyebrows
at don't say
shock troop
is all ears
being transgressed
in the marginalia.

The author
given any authority
is no more now
than a union rates
paid tradesman
making book
at the casino.

More practices
the fundaments
salve ignorantia
puts to rest
stray factions
of brain wave.

Wave goodbye
in a blow up
and blow out
of brain storm
take down
of the commune
into diaspora.

All the good
were yesterday
and everyone
is still cleaning
up their own acts
for the next stage.

becomes everything
strictly regular
as bowel movements
and pissoir habits
avoiding the boys
who suck urinals.

Talent scouts
every move
and any make
not noted out
in dedications
to one way deaths.

of dreams
getting the run
down and low
down tracks
gone over it all
only to turn back.

Turn back
and scream
hideous notes
pinned to kitchens
and foreheads
trousers bulged
long march missiles.

Keep going
long as it goes
into the gone
of everything
traded off
false promises
of better.

Climbing down
the up ladders
to nowhere
solidly backed
down sides
of given a rise
to celebrate.

It takes time
from time cards
for late starts
and coming in
but well meant.

We commemorate
forgotten occasions
given the regularity
of computers
performing faster
and faster

Given 4.72 billion
soulless entities
who do not know
us being anyone
to their versions
of being special.

The medium
is now the message
between very bad
and much worse
but there are pictures
of what it was
that the cat ate.



The devil in me
is the devil
that is in you
and the devil
that is in
is in
most everyone

Got to get along
with that devil
or get along
and go
so you can stop
devilling me
with devil you.

Better devils
than your devils
get along
with the devil
in me
and the devil
in you.

We would be
completely lost
lost without
that devil
that is in you
and that devil
that is in me.



Maybe was pancakes
and Maple drenched
blueberries sweet
broke the evening
into dreamy appetites
concerning others
disturbing the digest
another day's
mad cap events
breaking down
into a midnight sweat
of frail justifications.

It is the new
style of break downs
leaving old lines
in singular disarray
gone stale dated
creature habits
not really wanting
anything much
of anything
from the regularity
of common stuff
making sacrifices.

Where it all goes
out of the box
displaced excitement
more quickly
worn down
and worn out
in eternal rag on
once was
looking for all
the world of that
and never had
much more.

Cannot seem to
get the work done
but working
all the time
at something else
from a selection
list of diversions
wanting to subvert
entire systems
in punitive revenge
for the boredom
so strictly imposed.

The rutters
rutting in their ruts
avoiding anything
over the top
keeping their heads
well down under
youthful gun sights
of exuberance
feeding on trickle
mass culture
life support rations
into crusty veins.

I do declare
having had dreams
meant something
before cancellation
and being replaced
with common
forms of indifference
dunked beneath urges
urging do nothing
but waiting rooms
and passed over.

It becomes
not quite alive
but not quite dead
lingerings between
first light
and bad coffee
counting up choices
and fairy tales
among the dead
ends of make believe
there is still time
to do anything.



Cleaning out
things we never
want to throw away
in some misfit
state of mindless
conditioned abandon.

Gone into numb
in a self slam
been threadbare
and needled.

Sew it all up
into packaged
tight knit
dismal shades
tangled despair
about bad knots.

Lots of bad knots
never comb out
of the hair pulling
worry maze
headlines etched
across the brow.

Most of a life
can be strung out
strung along
and strung up
to left dangling
from a few threads.

Not meaning
in that way
and gather up
memories dared
look forward.

What was there
waiting for you
at arrivals
other than another
new departure
headed out.

We linger
in the intervals
that space out
minds and words
into Linotype syntax
of arrangements.

Morning news
and then forgotten
surveillance records
counting statistics
passed through.

Whatever it was
that we wanted
has been removed
from circulation
then replaced
with old ideas.

What we brought
and whatever was
that we came for
is no longer valid
sale or trade
at their markets.

We are the pawns
no broker takes
into any windows
on display
as any measure
of retained value.

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