I'm not Brian

June 1

I’m not Brian

I thought life was based on a system of ‘I will suffer and that will exempt you’.  Then I would be horrified when you suffered, after I had already done so ahead of you.  In an attempt to ease my dismay I would look to see who had broken the pact, you or me.  Had I not endured sufficiently to protect you?  Had you left the safety of the umbrella of sanctuary?  Panic gives birth to blame and blame of course births nasty biting things that run loose and bury in all the tender spots.  Now, the goals I tend are to end the breeding of those sharp and painful beasties, stop laying my neck upon the alter and start telling better jokes.

Scramble cracked perceptions

*

DANCE OF DEATH

Honeyed words pour from lips

Shades of doubt color my mind

Stained glass eyes look to blank walls

And picture the gallery of imagination

Attempting to sell it for hard currency

Sirens sing from the throats of mute men

The screams which rise in me fall on deaf ears

Paradox feeds controversy but it needn’t

Evolution from a cesspool is repugnant

Though process is steady made

Inertia is violent if that is from whence it came

Afterbirth is always bloody and humans not always nice

I must live and heal as others climb up and slide down

I must keep the beat and forget the dance of death.

Reguess

May 2

Reguess

When in my sarcasm I suggested that you ‘guess again’, I realized that you were in fact guessing, guessing about everything, guessing in order to create a process of elimination, a tool on which I now recognize you entirely depend.  Guessing as a way of life is a tragedy.  I’m not saying that trying to know every last thing in the world is an acceptable alternate goal, but to reach an adult age and not even be able to work your way up to a possible hunch is scary, scarier than even my sarcasm, which at this moment seems interminable, but I’m sure you guessed that.

Make a list of your favorite fingers

*

ON COMING

Anticipation of the approaching traffic consumes.

The tiny spec grows and develops into the arriving vehicle

50 miles per and the rapid succession of the coming

And those leaving eats quickly at my heart.

The pain seers me

Why are these who travel from the direction of my destination

Passing me by?

For miles and miles they appear to be greeters

The breeze created by their passing chaps my face

And questions my goals

How can so many abandon my objective?

But flee they do.

My hunger does not diminish

And I press on

Of course if we all went this way, we might tip the globe

Maybe that’s what they fear.