Tuesday, August 13, 2013

"He Walked"

He walked inside with one intention, solid, passive yet strong. Familiar hopes that more would soon follow. The odd bystander may have familiarized his previous entries to seek brief fixes, but he did see nobody. He didn't see through his eyes.

He walked the corridors to give the impression he was intent on anything else, to whom he did not know. A bottle of water is the one good he shared with everyone else. Impatient with the narrow, white lines, he patiently made the exchange - nothing to something. Something that could very well stack something on nothing, even if that something is nothing.

"I hope you feel better," the woman remarked as she bid his intention in a black plastic bag. Those words, the only words he may have heard all day, were both as genuine and feigned as his reply - "Thanks," as he struggled in thought to feel the irony.

Words grew slowly after that moment, but little more blossomed. He walked to his vehicle to make haste to remove his mark, hoping briefly and briefly to blossom just one more intention, solid, passive yet strong.

He walked.


To defend against the allergens of existence
Flare up the signals, tried untrue
Autoindulgence and autoerotic shutdown
My will is not my own
But a small pill to swallow as this home

To defend against the days before a sense
Excite the fingers stiffly for you until it is true
A home before now will never be found
The pill is not the one
But its interior crumbles as all inward flow

To defend against the times unspent
Valueless currency with which to thrive anew
Outward flow is subdued, condemned to the pits
Nothing is ever fun
And the sum above and below absolute continues the blow

Attack all hope, or all virtue, and all ashen swords of the past
With no allies inward or out, it will soon cease to last


The caverns are not plagued by darkness as told in the legends
More than nothing they are boldly painted white
May I see a purple streak?
Or anything out of the ordinary?
My hands are too tied up to scrape off the chips
And I'm forgetting what the colors all look like
May you explain the depths of this world to a man who cannot see?

"Scream of Consciousness"

In insubstantial substances of self-secession
Expression is repression of the only true transgression
Bestial sprint right out of depression
I fall to you with this collection

Sometimes it is all there is to do
To do away with the intrusive dew
Madame Butterfly once fluttered by fast
Wings dripping morning, few I could not see past
Through loving memory of the love
I gaze instead steadily through a dove

Soon these words float into the air
And I'm again the man who wasn't there
Typical loners feel lonely around people
Take a lonesome one step down and all thoughts are sheeple

I float back up to note, but
A scream lasts until you believe no one can hear but yourself
An expression of the least facetious effort
A scream to express the subatomic automatic
A scream to show the satiation of a marked face