[Nowhere in particular, end of day yet again]
In the face of the impossible:
Religious militance, misinformation overload mislabeled, conspiracy of wealth …
And a generation of children left behind (ca. 2001)
I am, frankly, tired and lost
[Somewhere near miracle street, Pennsylvania Station]
The apocalypse is etched in his sagging eyes
More bombastically than poster-board repentance
Nostradamus lullabies quell his poetry;
His lips parched for the Blood of Christ
A short form of poetry using a setting and a quatrain, coined by https://spectrous.wordpress.com/
[In a fugue at the crossroad of tomorrow]
Virulent madness never sleeps
And on return repeating
Light of god beyond shut eyes
That dreams but never rests
You can’t fix the world just by getting angry at it
The past doesn’t exist anymore
The future has yet to exist
And yet they still persist
To distract a present mind
In a world where everyone stands up,
Who stands out?
Don’t think up
Don’t think back
Think straight
I found this on my computer the other day. I can’t believe I forgot about it.
Mirror, mirror on the wall. Twist and turn my reality behind me. Make it nothing. Bring to focus this face, this smile, this demeanor and everything me that I can’t see. Analyze it to the very last pore: thin bones and muscles to show for work and experience, my frenetic hair tripping over itself, a lazy shaving job, the buoyant youth that keeps my eyes focused, every wrinkle from a lost love, the half-held gaze of nearly giving up, the smile that pleads friendship while playfully selfish.
I’ll never know my own face as well as you will. For you, my face is reality, but to me it is only a memory. And this morning already seems so long ago.
Post-Quantum Poetry 