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Posts Tagged ‘peom’

“Shutting down now,” Go to sleep.
“Forget you saw,” Don’t repeat.
“Ignore and turn away,” You didn’t see.
Flaws and failures, There still a mystery.
“Just shine and shine,” Cover up so much.
Truth is blind so don’t even touch.

“I don’t ask this lightly I expect you to comply
if at first you don’t succeed then just lie lie lie.
Its a simple favor really to just turn the other way
its a game you see, to win you must play play play.
Its a masquerade, it’ll be fun, here’s the mask I made.
So like your face they wont recognize, its you in disguise.
So straighten your collar, square you shoulders, lift your chin
go out the door and down the steps, and forget where you’ve been.”

Staring into eyes of my own not my own yet I know them.
I blink, stare, turn slightly watching me watching me.
I smile and wave, turn around. I wonder: am I still watching me?
Turn quickly but I’m too fast for me, there I am staring back at me.

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It comes sometimes, inspiration, in fits and spurts, short starts and abrupt ends. Other times it flows like a raging river and must be dammed or run out of control. My muse is bipolar; and just like that the faucet is turned and the flow of words stop.
Let me catch these last few drops
before they swirl away uncaught
to join the main stream
which is thought.

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Unfocused and Unbound, staring, not seeing.

There is a distant space that grabs at my attention, pulling my sight towards it; through my Eyes my Soul flows. Out, flying Out to meet my vision’s gravity, pulled out of Here and Now drawn to invisibility.
My Eyes are magnetisized. Seeing; traveling so far out that I return through the back of my head. Always it is quicker to retrace the light years than pass through my mind. Inside is more distance than all of Outerspace, Innerspace is far more of a vacuum. So much empty area; floating, gently colliding and rebounding.
A dark maze with but one end: down the rabbit hole to the fields by the river Illeism to the mountains against the stars, the land of frost and forest to the tip top where the still lake is a silent mirror. Up here there is no wind, up here the only sound is the sound you bring with you. Shout and the lake shatters the stars and you fall up to meet the broken pieces of the sky to fall back again to a plain surrounded by cliff walls. You awake to where you were all along, the Here and Now, only you have been absent, on a journey light years away to the edge of the universe where it bends back on itself and you ended up lost in your own mind and only just now retraced your steps.

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I can feel it building, damming up in my head, ready to spill and thrill and destroy and, and, and… I was reading Bukowski today, probably not the best thing to be reading. He has a way of making a good day bad. Not the happiest of people but that is what makes him so compelling I think, here is somebody who has it worse than you, who can make your good day shit and you love him for it. Says something about you doesn’t it?

All these double letters in the middle of these words which are completely meaningless and what was I saying?

It happens sometimes, after a long period of no text, of a blank page and a full mind. It happens that all these thoughts build up and overflow into one-another. The girl I am fucking, the girl I used to fuck, the dog and her bad habits, the job I don’t have or the one I do. Till it becomes one big ball of dog-fuck-girl-job-fuck-etc. In my head and NOTHING makes any God Damned sense. She doesn’t like it when I say that; God Damn. It bothers her, as if God listened to me and would personally damn that which I condemn. As if I haven’t fallen out of His sight.

It’s spilling out of me now, into my fingertips and onto the page. A giant ball of damned thoughts and forgotten essays on the vulgarities of a meaningfully meaningless life. And if that makes any sense to you than you are worse off than I am and better for it too.

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I looked to the sun as it rose.

I looked to the sun as it set.

I looked to the sun and I asked of it,

“What precedes your coming and your going?”

But the sun did not answer, the sun did not know;

It’s ancient rhythm set long before it’s existence.

So I sought to chase the sun,

I went to seek  it’s resting place.

Now I am there before it rises

And there before it sets.

My own ancient rhythm set long before I existed.

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Every monday it rains here
And on tuesdays it’s quiet.
Sundays are a sigh,
The calm before monday.
Fridays and saturdays are a flood
And the rest of the week is forgotten.
By the end of the month you wonder,
What will tomorrow bring?
By the end of the month you hope
Tomorrow brings a memory.
Not a sigh or rain,
Not a flood of unremembered days.

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Old men gathered around a pipe, pointing and arguing as though it were a piece of art. As though their lives were tied to it; that small piece of pipe.
Which, being metal mongers, men of steal and heat, I suppose they are tied to it.

Across the bay the battleship sits quiet; low and heavy in the water. Her guns point east and west towards the falling and rising sun. Helicopters and jets pass overhead. The wind shifts. I adjust my shotgun and sigh, I’ll be wet with the rain soon.

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