Here, the wake
It is both what and who we leave behind Ceremony for one Reflection for the other, perhaps interchangeable Difficult to say which is the Bullet point and which is the Lasting memory I won't speak for myself But Koheleth may be a fraud Except that we all march toward the grave The grimmest horse His lucky wake, if he even existed, To be ruminated over A lasting memory confused by senses and languages He can't speak for himself Nothing is instantaneous The tactile senses take eons And may not deliver on their promises Yet they demand unconditional trust They buckle under their task The same way that language Always fails to translate electricity But we've yet to measure the wake of energy when the brain wishes to be heard It doesn't speak for itself Heavy news, it is
A sand dune covers the pond Hope that it's nothing Living matter to cosmic dust
I saw you burn across the sky I’ve a note for every tear I’ve kept Alongside every curse under my tongue Be mindful when you’re near the Sun At least you don’t have to dream to fly Dear old Mrs. Applebee
Gathered all the children but forgot me Underground they will stay Keeping Old Age at bay Everyone, that is, but me Dear old Mrs. Applebee Bubbles with the children under the sea They laugh and they swim With Neptune, yes him Everyone, that is, but me Dear old Mrs. Applebee Swings inside the Sycamore Tree The children all laugh Safe from Time's wrath Everyone, that is, but me Dear old Mrs. Applebee One of these days she'll come back for me We'll swim and we'll sing We'll skip and we'll swing Everyone, that is, and me Dear old Mrs. Applebee Oh how I wish she could hear my plea But down in this hole You can hear the bells toll For no one, that is, but me Strength and weakness are intertwined
The Caduceus might be appropriate Then again, it might be an insult He is forced to watch, unable to act He rolls and turns, spins and twists Incorporeal tantrums won't do a thing Who knows? It could be due to Saturn Gnashing of teeth, wringing of hands It might be part of the plan There is no Rosetta Stone to translate No way to make sense of it And no choice is aligned Cells die and matter migrates Nothing is as it always was and will never be As above, so below, forever in-between But time, and our perception, drag us along We arrive at new places and expectations The procession proceeds A Great Year for some, a bad year for others When I wake up, I hope that I can see more stars An extra eye would make for a better view Barely 5 inches from the berber
I can see the dust bunnies scattering More than I can see the end I still feel the knee in my back And the pressure on my chest It's about time I had a break Not made to be indentured Should have thought about this more But guilt is one hell of a drug Growing up is more Like growing dense: One layer for each obstacle The closer I get to the end The closer I get to Leaving myself behind Time heals our wounds, yes?
Six feet high or six feet deep? When will you get over? When your watch has broke The place doesn't matter now I wish I could say Does talking help you? Have you had enough of this? How many more knives? With the right person I was done nine months ago Only one for me Thoughtless thinking flows
Underneath the undertow Hold my breath always Shining light seeps through Around me and over you Hold my arm always For you, I forgot Over time, love never stops Hold my hand always |
Archives
May 2016
|