Showing posts from May, 2010

Stranger Scene

Observing the yet unknown
makes you feel like the surplus population;
cold, wet concrete seat
hoping that someone will,
not even drop just one coin,
all you want is a glance of acknowledgement.

Busyness men with business blinkers;
tunnel visionaries
conceitedly amble towards the light;
merely a mirror.
They ignore the uniqueness
of the naturally weathered
rock face walls.

If you despise the walls
they will close around you
in the cold terror of claustrophobia.
If you overlook the faces
their bodies will crowd you
in the heated frustration of claustrophobia,
and eventually they will block out
the light of your ambition.

Do you really want to wait
until you’re drowning in company
before you admit that
cogito ergo sum has
left you tired of treading water?

The weight of your blood
may give you a heavy heart,
but bleeding into anonymous sinkholes
is no solution;
They will never share your life
but counterproductively replace what you pour out
with lead memories.

I think
therefore I am.
I am
therefore I think.
Others are

Oblivious Surface

Supposed experts of expression
grasp at their equality with greatness;
whispers of memories of segments of a dream.
Fame is all dreams come true.

Open minds open wallets
and throw live stock at flesh,
leaving with memories they’d pay to forget.
What past time is worth retaining?

Projections of gold-plated medicines
in bubbles, blown out from speakers
burst over the entirety of the listeners,
and gold is the ultimate in remedy.

Made healthy enough to fill
a manufactured lack at the expense
of all other possible ambition,
but to be the face of a glorious landfill.

Excess denoting success
sneers at the ground and
gnashes sharp teeth toward the sky.
If only gravity still gripped the cloud’s heels.

What about you and me
we know better than both,
the packaging and consumer belong to each other,
and we stand aloof, with everyone else.

Counterfeit experts of expression
obliviously whisper, talk and shout,
building on the anonymity of yesterday,
burying profound architecture in red-brick supermarket.

Charlatan experts of…

Tumbleweed and Redwood

Shadows cast towards the exit
anticipating your desire.
But you’re actually happy in this room
as you’re happy in your skin.
You know you can’t merely
Blow the sand out of an open wound.

Sure enough, soon
itchy nostrils and impatient feet
beg permission to engage their gears
and reconnect with your
wandering shadow,
buried in something new.

Happiness is not a synonym of contentment;
you cannot brush the stain
of want from your clothes
and expect to be able to leave
the curtains open but keep the window closed.

Ambition is not the opposite of contentment;
to sink your roots deep is not
to give up the potential of growing towards the sky,
tumbleweed wishes it could fly
just to touch the lowest branch of the tallest tree.

Written Jan 2010