once more, with feeling
More clear, direct
What I need to say
What claws itself out from
that is me.
Sense deeply processed
beneath my consciousness
released not in fleeting dreams —
here and now
What I need to tell you (plural you)
that we all already know,
hear, revile as saccharine sop
to futile reality —
innocent souls, before natality’s tolls,
toils, recriminations, banalities.
Who we have fallen into, become
without preparation or consent.
I so want to convince you (us)
all of a shining destiny
above petty declarations of war.
Craving more, a truth and justice
promised, like Santa Claus,
a human soul that loves, demands
mutual assured aid and comfort,
fulfillment of long sought paradise
because we can.
What is achieved in a life?
All those moments we live, feel.
air inhaled, expelled.
Voices, words that reverberate,
haunt, compel as passion
that won’t let go.
Grasp, if you can, those
floating threads each holding
chapters, stanzas, soul songs
that carried you through
excruciating days, months, years.
See, brilliant achievement,
creation, demons and gods
as needed, a whole world
Exquisite beauty –the essence of artistic
Ok, we all split into our
supposed safe places, self-affirming
speak against fears of alienation,
attack — valid fears.
Yet, here, we find not safety,
but ever more alienation, attacking,
sniping and escalating out from
each supposed safe zone
into the cold, dark THEM.
When will it truly, deeply,
existentially, occur to us
it’s time to release these bindings,
to become a people bound together
by our common, human needs, hopes,
Trends are saying more and more
of us are dying of loneliness
within this great ocean of possible
companions, friends, loves
we have become too encapsulated
Inner cinema montage
deep echoing adventures,
strikes of color, light, paralysis
held in violent emotion.
A mere babe runs away across
a busy street, hiding beneath bushes,
because she could, demanding
Dark city nights, hugged to
Walking through brick and mortar
past trashcan fires, street community.
Thumb out, shivering icy roads,
or flooded highways, bare foot
scorching desolate insomniac
Haunted explorations, led by that
fantasy aura obfuscating rational view.
Mini romances that cut through,
Across smoking stone overpass,
high to high school AP exam where
the words floated from rakish eye to
#2 pencil, an array of imprinted
Lying in the garden on cotton,
tasting boysenberry yogurt,
hoping the world disappears,
ends here where the bullied
anxiety won’t follow.
Quiet now …
I’ll tell you more on morrow