On a road internal
there is a hiccup.
it
causes a giggle
inside.
or is that
the Universe,
laughing at me
Again.
She likes to laugh at me
when I’m most serious
and focused.
I’ll dance with you
sweet Arachne.
We will waltz and salsa,
and tango.
we can even
do the wop.
but,
my laughing giddy Cytherean Wonder,
we dance down This Road.
or we don’t dance at all.
Hey buddy
how are you?
what are you doing here?
isn’t it a nice tree?
like a cradle
in the sky.
I miss my mom.
do you miss yours?
what are we doing here?
I prefer a crawfish to a chicken bone
but,
we ain’t got none.
this is a nice tree.
I hope they don’t chop it down
like my other favorite tree.
they chop down a lot of trees.
I don’t like that.
but I like trees.
oh shit, quiet!
it’s ‘Gus, you know,
Killer G.
he ate my momma.
Kicks you in the mouth
and spits on your pride.
Defecates next to your pillow
and always,
always makes you cry.
But you want more
because,
Love
is real.
you want more because,
you forgot
from where
Love really comes?
from where
You really come?
So you kick,
and spit,
And you shit.
Because
in her eyes
you find that Love…
Because,
inside
you find no
thing.
and so you cry,
and i cry,
and we cry
alone.
be making bitches crazy.
true story.
When darkness
came
crowding in
leaving no room for solitude,
he looked up
and
believed,
in me.
So I do too.
I have tried.
at times,
more purposefully
than others.
But
I have,
tried.
At what point do I seek the warm
embrace of you
my Muse-
forsaking all else
and
all others.
They do not understand,
and
I admit,
regretfully,
though I try,
I do not care for them
to
understand the essence,
the truth that I see,
the reality,
me.
In the beginning,
Many became One.
One,
a number only slightly
less
perfect than
None.
I seek perfection
but I can settle,
for Once.
Complexed?
Or just suffering from one?
I want to save the world.
Because I am afraid to rescue my own soul from perdition.
So,
Without love
or compassion,
I set about making good works.
I carry, and I soothe,
And patiently guide those I encounter along my way.
Does any true servant know of any other way? I serve this world faithfully, giving everything, but my soul.
That is kept locked away in a little box, Thriving? Rotting? Laughing? Crying.
Who knows? Who cares? It is safe, and so am I. And this way, by giving nothing I can give more.
So why is that not enough? Why is there still a burn, where there should only be void?
Within the silence
of husks abandoned,
rest the failed kernels
of magical symphonies
never to be heard.
notes and chords
harmoniously discordant,
and bewitching rhythms join
in a story of Truth.
We are all
Composers
And
Poets
-with performance anxiety.
Our gifts lay precious, intact, and
inside.
Perfectly wasted
in perfect solitude.
Bravo…
Bravo….
Back
to the dregs.
the wellspring
of the unoriginal.
I don’t hate it –
In fact I missed you,
my crooked familiar Muse.
I’m back
until I waltz again.
theDeprevation 