Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Junk Drawer Scavenger-type


Every second that progresses I fall deeper into the madness
I do not want to be sane
Sanity is full of numb sober stillness
The nothingness is obvious plastered like the tale of cotton

Delusions are stuffed with passion
Masquerades of the imaginary fervor of potential reciprocation
As if a feeling is an animal raging and lustful lapping waters at gates
The brew is tangible in the throes of pain ripped like sinew

Straight off the bone flopping miraculously in the moon light
The degradation of a psyche was failing triumphantly
All on my own in a street full of cold concrete rolled
Blanketed over the absence as if all these letters and words

Were not jumbled puzzle pieces in a junk drawer
I scavenge; I stir; I rummage; I ruminate
In a death spiral of hues and spoken garbage
Give me the hell stroke; slay me bloodless

To bleed out on the curb like a mashed dog
Entitled to the empathy of a pressed squirrel or opossum
Furry crackle of transcendence that some feeling was validated
I was a great squid of the deep surfacing and my how I was hated

Harpooned like a world-eater that the very act of contemplating caring
Was to become an abuser, a taker, a monster-man obsessing into the forbidden
“Just go away son, just go away son; no one wants to hear what you have to say here
We can tell you need this, want this too much; stop wanting”

A heart with a switch and a blanket of anger over the entry valve
As if I could ever approach and I feel like giving into the madness
Live on the winter’s dip and card board shoe polish menus at the interstate exit
Wander in the woods and walk the Earth barking at bill boards to let me sleep

The moon light and the sun in their war of supremacy
And she can have it; she can have all of it
The isolation, the confidence, the dance, the locket, the watches and time, time, time

I am falling into the insanity I don’t care; it’s hopeless  

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