what was bliss has gone amiss

May 6, 2008

Where is God when the world is ablaze?  Why did the Devil discard his angelic grace?  Why are people always bound in some craze?  What ever happened to this forsaken place?  This sacred race with a human face.

In our hands, our furred, finned and feathered friends meet their ends.  We don’t think we need to make amends, but that all depends on current social trends indicating that before something breaks, it bends.

We don’t like to think a thought about more than we think we’ve got.  The memory is out there, but it looks like we all forgot that a lazy person can’t be taught.  If you can’t beat them.  Greet them, but don’t get caught.

What do I know?

May 6, 2008

What does anyone know about pain?  For some it’s a last breath.  For others, bead of rain.  For those, it’s a purpose.  For them, the inane.  We scoff at the normal.  We scorn the insane.  It can be beauty.  Or a dreary plain.  So very different.  So much still the same.

Wandering, wondering about a dream I had last night, dark.  I don’t remember, but I think it was nothing.  Literally nothing.  Black.  Dark.  Empty.  Long dream, short night.  What is in my mind?  Nothing?

Cowboy hats, boots and buckles don’t have a sense of suburban style.  Every time I see someone wearing one of them, I can’t resist a smile.

At this moment, the day of Piglet is out of reach, far away.  I wish the meek could inherit the Earth, could proliferate through birth.  But there is no mercy at the bank.  In the rank you file and in the file you rank.

Absent I, absinthe eye.  Just wandering, wondering, why the box of tissue keeps so many secrets?

The speaker was a leaker of meaningless words.  I had to listen, was on every channel. 

On my mask, my painted face, a resemblance of the space between here and every other place.

A voice in the background, a psychotropic sound.  Speak to me.  Tell me the truth about sooth.  Is it real or just another loftless word?

What does friend mean to me?  I don’t know anymore.  Everything diminishes, fades, erodes like the croak of toads, crumbles like oft travelled roads.  Tax dollars pave the path to the politician’s pool, cool envy drool.

There isn’t a trophy for atrophy.  For every inaction, no reaction.