Poems: 220921 - September 22nd, 2021

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Robert Morpheal

Sep 23, 2021, 12:54:28 AM9/23/21

Misery of flesh
and misery of water
if she were here
her beauty
could turn it to wine.

She was a miracle
with a high price tag
constructed from pieces
of whatever it was
that was now popular.

Can't find anything
of the old religion
don't understand
any of the new
don't want the truth.

Had that before
and it was the truth
that wasn't really true
but everyone believed it
served their purpose.

Too many brushes
with too much death
been so hard to wash
the war paint off
streaked rainbow shades.

Only another category
pretends at wanted
but never really in
on that competition
of segregated shades.

Colour never matters
it is all black and white
when it goes into print
adding a few stories
to a comic book life.

Nothing really exists
that you don't have to fight
for or against
but everyone wants to win
at something or other.

It isn't anything
anyone ever said
but it always goes
without the saying
to another sort of alone.

This isn't happiness
this isn't death
not knowing anything
that the others know
when it gets pulled down.

Down it all goes
and you fall away
not wanting any more
of nothing happening
and nothing left to say.



Just another piece
that can play no part
in the big puzzle.

Thought it a wild card
but it doesn't fit
anywhere, anyhow.

The misled misdeal
of all those years
turned to penny ante.

No winning hand
and not in any game
I wanted to play.

The swept aside
and the swept up
clouded grit and dust.

I confess I wanted
for some better options
same as anyone else.

Watching the worst
get the best
of any estimations.

It is a different idea
how some play
favourite pastimes.

Strange how it turns
nothing to choose
sight lines of fancy.

There is no exchange
of the right looks
with the right eyes.

Gaze into void
travels with you
whenever, wherever.

No getting in on it
and no getting away
from it.



Don't look to me
in that cruel blaming way :
I don't want to save you.

You can go now
and I won't be keeping you
from selecting an ending.

I had nothing to do
with filling in slots
in the vending machines.

You can push a button
and it will dispense
your personal selection.

We leave saving worlds
to a few official saviours
who can then take the blame.

Don't call on me
I never could be
and never was your hero.

No one really saved anything
of any of the good things
that have all gone away.

The ones that I really liked
were never constructed
to last any length of time.

Someone else responsible
for burying them
though I am still weeping.

I didn't really want
to be nothing but a part
of their final ceremonies.

So much that was fragile
that I wanted to keep
before it became broken.

Perhaps there were pieces
ending gathered up
by professional saviours.

Don't blame me
that I was never really
any part of that plan.



You walk around
made as invisible
as what stands behind
an illuminated billboard.

It is that flashy bit
that gets in the way
same as a slow motion
sort of fatality.

You crash a party
around the Chalk Circle
trying to collect and decipher
your own clues.

Having no control
over the messages sent
but you can put blame
on a face or a wardrobe.

How to find any sway
to ransom yourself
from kidnappers
who hold you hostage.

If only you knew how
to merch yourself out
the way rock stars do it
into vintage memorabilia.

You don't really know
what the right swag is
or what rules to break
in order to become famous.

Same as it ever was
would be the litany
in an endless succession
of escalating demands.

It costs more now
than you ever imagined
and the skill testing question
has already timed out.

It isn't your name
that is in that envelope
where they draw names
of winning contestants.

It seems you never won
at anything really
and the only ones loved
are in fact winners.

Cannot start a conversation
being left out
on someone's far margin
and maybe it is too late.

Life is that chemistry
labelled endlessly
toxic, corrosive, reactive
and lacking real substance.

Substance seems everything
if you happen to have
the right substances
you too can be popular.

We are only chemistry
unable to formulate
real chemical bonds
to keep anything together.



A hatred of dreaming
comes from the fact
there is never anyone there
whom one really wants
to know or make love to.

Dreams are no longer
something made for us
but only discontent
bringing chagrin
of dead possibilities.

No one comes that close
with their eyes closed
that it would be anything
more than passes
at street corners.

Concrete times
spreads out pages
slab, post, connected lines
broken thousands
of repeating spaces.

An ancient compositor
that laid down the type
face of the universe
before final copy
went to print.

Stories of never tell
and secret show boats
drifting waters
of the never know
by invitations only.

What will anyone think
about the gone over
into the strange
where the pain dwells
outside the ending.

Roll up those windows
lock those doors
at the junction lights
avoiding of pan handlers
and sales pitch whores.

Knee jerk reactions
evasively usual species
common contaminants
strategic placements
for maximizing fear.

Freedoms changed
to terror of something
becoming lost
never found again
and never the same.

Identical ice
that no one breaks
circulating naughty
letters to plastic Santas
at the melt away poles.

Rock candy colours
clown the salty
sand licks of beached
combing out the long
high tide markers.

No way to reconcile
with the elements
and the four quarters
endlessly pulling
everything apart.

You stretched me
until I fractured
along the vertical
and the horizontal
modes of hold.



You're another wreck
that never came in
from what's gone cold
and it is all gone cold
every way it shakes.

Another tremor
in another shake up
makes demands
for too much faith
in losing propositions.

My eyes are melting
the way they melt
remnants of icicle
life loosely passing
as maybe lived.

They teach goodbye
until we forget
how to say hello
being only numbers
too easily erased
from consideration.

Tick mark self
identifies our confines
into little boxes
becoming whatever
we choose to betray.

Authenticity becomes
another frail pretense
at scavenging
some additional means
of attraction.

Some silly words
no one believes
until shots are fired
and something falls
from a bloodied sky.

Vestigial wings
inside a skin bag
never got as far
as a pluck of feathers
strewn pillow fight.

Flutter sticks
trying for the Moon
find she is gone
to another slice
another time.

Friends you thought
looking up
weren't really yours
but you collected them
as contraband.

Smuggled yourself
through a few doors
as if belonging
the way a stunt actor
plays a star's role.

Tried to sell
yourself to anything
black marketing
a lemonade stand
deranged state of mind.

Wasn't more real
when you fell out
than when you fell in
catch yourself hooked
lines and sinkers.

Need various permits
to come and go
seedy and soured
in that last suit
from the last tailor.

Those hollow places
you can never fill
with the came and went
made impressions
as a footprint does.

I'm not the sort of face
you tend to remember
and you're the sort of name
I very soon forget
makes up the tune of it.



Ironed myself out
pressing creases
along the folds
of a discard flesh.

Inserted stiffeners
applying a celluloid
rigid sort of collar
button down life.

A turn for the worse
and no magic bullet
that can assassinate
any desires.

Now you tell me
you don't want
a once mechanical
working stiff.

Various neck ties
serving as tourniquets
stopping fantasies
from bleeding out.

Pencils were once
stubby phallic symbols
sharpened in a hole
and needed to be pushed.

Becomes obsolescence
technically replaced
by rubber toys
made more efficient.

Rusted arms
dangling from sockets
propped up
in the display case.

The feelings gone
from extremities
due to the duration
of prolonged misuse.

A museum piece
labelled frustration
in a controlled climate
of continual change.

I wanted to be
the fragile girl
who only dances
with the other girls.

The small bulges
of breasts nippled
with cravings
for softer promises.

A sweet soft
minded confection
giving up
all the hard moves.

I wanted to escape
the cold hard facts
of being a prisoner
to my anatomy.


We live in countless different prisons, of varying sorts, that we can never escape. Some of them we try to build, and even sometimes succeed in building to escape others. Some are more successful at that than others, and some are never really successful at it at all. Most of what we tend to do are escape attempts. The attempts to gain the experience of what we cannot experience. The attempts to know what we cannot really know. The attempts to have a chance to do what we cannot ever really do. Countless different escape attempts all defiant of our horrifying limitations. We even write on our walls the way the Marquis de Sade wrote on his. Of course we can imagine, using our incredible imaginations, what our own personal freedom could really be like. That too imprisons us because imagining anything is another prison that we then try to break out of, so as to know a reality. A reality we might never actually have any chance to actually know.
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