Poems: 080921 - September 8th, 2021

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Robert Morpheal

Sep 8, 2021, 3:14:03 PM9/8/21

Where is the good thing
that is going
and don't know where
it's gone.

Chasing after
the invisible tail
lost in the evolution
of our despot selves.

Writing our fictions
creating our myths
about magnificent
wastes of time.

Spent at illusions
among the shades
presented sample
wallpaper eternities.

Cover a whole life
with one pattern
that you can buy into
on an instalment plan.

An isolated corner
in a waiting room
and still in denial
that the world ended.

It did end
at failed attempts
to put it together
into anything again.

The only people known
are the sorts of people
that we never meet
among formalities.

Anyone invited
would never arrive
having been diverted
by weather reports.

Extremes some go to
to convince or force
a dead stop to trying
at whatever it is.

All that was wanted
was bloodied hands
taking your own axe
to your own imagination.

What you imagined
is always turned
into an instrument
of your self betrayal.

You betrayed yourself
for a few coins
misled into believing
it was the right thing.

Walk the shore
looking how to drown
on the far edge
seas of agitation.

Watching the ghosts
holding hands
locked and loaded eyes
along the boardwalk.



No one you ever wanted
ever wanted anything
that you ever really wanted
with anyone you wanted.

You turned to the crowd
but the crowd turned away
someone had bought out
their minds and their time.

It doesn't really matter
what we choose to advertise
it will always end up
dialed a wrong number.

Those are the worst odds
anyone ever played
and it doesn't matter what
it's just a gambling debt.

It doesn't really matter
if you never placed a bet
on winners and losers
in a game that's fixed.

All they ever promised
was their most cruel love
their coldest love
their most broken love.

A love as broken
as the most broken of us
in the ways they break
everything we love.

They weren't your lovers
and they weren't mine
leaving us in between
a thought and a feeling.



The sort of complicated
we can never figure out
intended to hold us
in its mental lock.

You cannot get out
by giving up
and there is no other way
as it cuts you down.

Still hallucinating
outbursts of life
from a bag of death
bottom of their river.

It was a long drift
to a long way down
breaking that surface
wrong way around.

It all closes over
it all closes up
until nothing reflects
your there and then.

No one remembers
and no one cares
because all there was
was someone else.

Something about
lessons in wealth
where it always costs more
and you always get less.

It never gets better
but could get much worse
paying the bills
for your loneliness.



If the usual pain
is not enough
you can be terrorized
with family plots
for burials
of your memories.

You are always dying
to something
something old
something new
until dying is a habit
comes before life.

One grieving
leads to another
forming processionals
of the usual events
and cheery people
waving at the parade.

It was a mistake
counting on anything
that didn't kill something
cherished inside you
that you desperately wanted
to keep alive.

Dying to the people
you used to know
dying to the things
you used to have
made dead to anything
you wanted to do.

There is dying out
there is dying down
there is dying away
but you know
the dead don't come to life
at the end of their day.



They punch your ticket
to losing
because that is all the fare
you ever really had
and it won't take you
one tiny fraction further
along the same old line.

Liking doesn't
mean a damn thing
then or now
to anyone anymore
if they don't like you
doing that belly crawl
in their mud holes.

Can't stand the games
they made you play
for handfuls of coin
so you find yourself
becoming a soul search
for a game penalty
or a lifetime suspension.

Got to get away
but don't know how
once you are painted
that colour
into a tight corner
surrounded by yellow lines
and gunmetal objections.

Went shopping
in those catalogues
for a ghost of a future
forever get lost
ever never find
where to go
from where you came.

They didn't like you
looking like you did
wanting for anything
you could ever want
on any long stretch
welcome to vague
personal freedoms.

It was a waste of time
if you believed
amounting to anything
past more of the same
wastes of time spent
filling in the holes
you can never fill.

You never made it
to be anyone's hero
reinvented and redefined
strict accordance
current vernacular
pop up version usual
brainwash stations.

Nervous flutter
of butterfly stomachs
feel the threat levels
come with emptiness
so emptied out
we forget to eat
while they eat us.

Being the bone
in the mouth of a dog
three heads up
howl at the moon
pleads your case
won't get you in
to another Hell.



Those friends
you thought you had
wrecked you
knowing the burdens
of their proof
were all on their side
keeping them safe.

You weren't there
and they are always
any side of anything
more popular
than a worn out
old shoe
that no one wants.

Carry that load
until you expire
somewhere past
always best before
those warning dates
secret coded
on the packaging.

Wrap it up
with some nowhere
to send it to
knowing they left
with those outlaws
always looking
for some purer pain.

Strong armed
and bruised
is the latest rage
and they get excited
about going
the other way
at the turn around.



I keep writing all
those sorts of things
you never wanted me
ever and to say.

Convulsive thoughts
from the shake downs
crushes of the head
into the hips.

It was never a kindness
and what was expected
expected too much
in expectation of nothing.

Most forms of thought
becoming anachronistic
and widely unpopular
types of disruptions.

The campaign
waged against reason
gathers momentum
as a tap dancing choral.

Is there any time
or are we too late
for rapid elimination
of happiness.

Wipe away your eyes
for having peeked
when you were told
they must remain closed.



Liking your looks
and something about you
I can then short list you
on that list of people
I never expect to meet.

We are kept so busy
with absurd projects
and some are building
rockets to the Moon
while others count it up.

I had no idea
every letter I ever wrote
was a suicide note
in one translation
or another.

It was customary
to be forced to die
to something
end of each paragraph
after a point was made.

That would keep us
from unpopular thinking
which could deviate
from commercial terms
into unthinkable romances.

There is no proof
about the wealthy
having any other options
but we hear rumours
being deliberately leaked.

Talk of freedom
is something cheap
being mass produced
made habit forming
and officially approved.

We could fantasize
about anything
that would never happen
having failed to obtain
any seals of approval.

It takes time
for the censors to review
objectionable portions
of our dreams
returning them for revision.

We are worn away
by the process
that leaves us nothing
we would have enjoyed
outside of the too ordinary.

For the sake of histories
you always write me off
as being too strange
and I write you off
as too boringly common.



Removing the moisture
of any remaining emotion
you could be ground up
into a fine powder
that could then be sold
at an immense price
for a very small amount
in little plastic bags.

In that manner
your worthlessness
could achieve some worth
as a magic dust
similar to many things
ground up that way
into fine powders
to give them some value.

Rhinoceros horn
Tiger bone
eye of Loris
gall of Bear
Deer antler
dried millipede
desiccated snake
rat and hen.

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