so, you won't be voting for Trump, what if he wins anyways?
Apr 13, 2020 23:59:22 GMT -6
phantasm and darkness0within like this
Post by moseley on Apr 13, 2020 23:59:22 GMT -6
hurry, get past the last pages
get past the blank pages
close the back of the book
oh move it to the left
and bring to the right
the unwritten story,
the one you dream to write
when tears, smiles, ups and downs
no longer play the factor,
I argue with the sun
it's east to west thing
birth to death, you are never born
when the cord is cut
when that ass is first smacked
brings right to left, some languages do
but the west is contrary
maybe not just the west
maybe just opposite,
some asinine contrary things
when the finger does not point,
when the blame has no taxation
no defense, no offense,
after you memorize the script and do it
and do it, and do it, and fucking do it
maybe then, the script isn't enough
the prescription does not ease the pain
the pain that matters,
running some jagged pill down,
the one that always gets stuck and burns
as it just sits and sits and sits
and we will swallow another tomorrow
same bat time, same bat channel
bat shit
after meaning has no bearing on sanity
or saneness, such things, such things
oh, such marvelous things, when you just
cannot pin a tail on the donkey
a bow on Eyore's threads,
when 100 acres of woods is fed by your own whizz
oh the whizzards of whizzing
dairy whippers and snappy little snappers
what is past the ordinary, it is not in form
or function, or feeling,
feeling is not everything
thinking, certainly far less
silence or motion, all this work to claim
the lost Dutchman mine, because somehow
it is all there,
Ponce DeLeon is bones and dust
and his dreams only stories that rust
in the everafter we have never seen
in that we trust, as if not knowing
is somehow surer, the surest
and maybe it is,
keep on searching for a heart of gold,
Cortez just stopped hearts to get his
what matters, when mattering is the busy-ness
of the bee's mess, confess, less, test
only let the winds fall, the cold press
the heat sweat, time fade me,
I have never been born or reborn
and we marvel at those terms,
marvel, marvel wonder ponder lookie yonder
die our hairs, just a little blonder
color and the noise, toys, boy's noise
cat's whiskers, and this is what I meant
after the last written line goes away
after the last thought thunk gives its grief
make good of that grief, sure
happily, at some time, postponed till tomorrow
till only then, when, send, lend, pretend
just when we are our post selves,
as we get over our sell-f,
and the salesman's suitcase can be a sandfilled zen garden
we let go at a garage sale for two even dollars
they will have several copies on Amazon
just give it time, duct tape for duct tape
something to just glue the glue
a pill for the pills you been taking to fix
the pills you had to take to take the pills
you needed because it is the pills you need
to live to go, to do, to be oh provigil for me
provigil for you, for every goddamned body
push down the cap while turning, the kids can't figure that shit out
huh, hunh, huh?
deeper than the measure of our thoughts, when we just stop to ponder
just when we stop all this, and just let drift
just listen, to what can never be heard, where it might be
the whistle across a hair because a louse is just cemented right
and maybe we say goodbye to love, to self, to personna
they are all creations, they are all suppositions and can change
like castles at the shoreline of a busy sea
the hourglass can make the strongest beam, bow, and bend
and for a moment, in some loveless curiousity,
we just take in the breath, just that breath
simple air, old air, for the most part, air that has been always
though we haven't, then, neither has it, but that air is old
but it ain't stale
breath that air in, breath that air out, diaphragm, diaphragm
the subtle pat-a-pat, boom boom boom, rat a tat ah rah rah rah
however beats the heart that we give its beats words
that beat, that air, one sacred moment, without thought
just that beat, that air, and maybe how just that feels
not the feelings, just the feels, the feelsies if you will
but not the feelings, they can change, and we too can change
just stop that beat, that air, much will happen
but only our parasites may benefit, and we carry them
alas, poor Yorick, who the fuck was he?
tis only a skull the thespian wields
and the rest is noise
if you have to feel, feel some fascination
if you have to love, love without return
give it away, because you can
do nothing I say, they say
say what you want, be what you will
hurry now, close those pages, run it down
and run into the sunrise, leave the sunset behind
but leave the windmills be,
and if you see Dulcinea, tell her about me
and she might declare me fiction,
and we might all be fiction
but maybe we don't have to be God's paperback book characters
or the monkeys in the barrel
the grump in the bucket
maybe it was always God, waiting for us to be something of our own
once we tired of the patterns, and wore out the treads
when we ran out of gas, and had to go on our own feet
maybe that is the journey
we have yet to take
when comfort is abandoned, not for misery
but maybe we join Jason, once again,
and just leave this lotus filled island
as for anything too long, we have a belly full
of what we can no longer stand.....
get past the blank pages
close the back of the book
oh move it to the left
and bring to the right
the unwritten story,
the one you dream to write
when tears, smiles, ups and downs
no longer play the factor,
I argue with the sun
it's east to west thing
birth to death, you are never born
when the cord is cut
when that ass is first smacked
brings right to left, some languages do
but the west is contrary
maybe not just the west
maybe just opposite,
some asinine contrary things
when the finger does not point,
when the blame has no taxation
no defense, no offense,
after you memorize the script and do it
and do it, and do it, and fucking do it
maybe then, the script isn't enough
the prescription does not ease the pain
the pain that matters,
running some jagged pill down,
the one that always gets stuck and burns
as it just sits and sits and sits
and we will swallow another tomorrow
same bat time, same bat channel
bat shit
after meaning has no bearing on sanity
or saneness, such things, such things
oh, such marvelous things, when you just
cannot pin a tail on the donkey
a bow on Eyore's threads,
when 100 acres of woods is fed by your own whizz
oh the whizzards of whizzing
dairy whippers and snappy little snappers
what is past the ordinary, it is not in form
or function, or feeling,
feeling is not everything
thinking, certainly far less
silence or motion, all this work to claim
the lost Dutchman mine, because somehow
it is all there,
Ponce DeLeon is bones and dust
and his dreams only stories that rust
in the everafter we have never seen
in that we trust, as if not knowing
is somehow surer, the surest
and maybe it is,
keep on searching for a heart of gold,
Cortez just stopped hearts to get his
what matters, when mattering is the busy-ness
of the bee's mess, confess, less, test
only let the winds fall, the cold press
the heat sweat, time fade me,
I have never been born or reborn
and we marvel at those terms,
marvel, marvel wonder ponder lookie yonder
die our hairs, just a little blonder
color and the noise, toys, boy's noise
cat's whiskers, and this is what I meant
after the last written line goes away
after the last thought thunk gives its grief
make good of that grief, sure
happily, at some time, postponed till tomorrow
till only then, when, send, lend, pretend
just when we are our post selves,
as we get over our sell-f,
and the salesman's suitcase can be a sandfilled zen garden
we let go at a garage sale for two even dollars
they will have several copies on Amazon
just give it time, duct tape for duct tape
something to just glue the glue
a pill for the pills you been taking to fix
the pills you had to take to take the pills
you needed because it is the pills you need
to live to go, to do, to be oh provigil for me
provigil for you, for every goddamned body
push down the cap while turning, the kids can't figure that shit out
huh, hunh, huh?
deeper than the measure of our thoughts, when we just stop to ponder
just when we stop all this, and just let drift
just listen, to what can never be heard, where it might be
the whistle across a hair because a louse is just cemented right
and maybe we say goodbye to love, to self, to personna
they are all creations, they are all suppositions and can change
like castles at the shoreline of a busy sea
the hourglass can make the strongest beam, bow, and bend
and for a moment, in some loveless curiousity,
we just take in the breath, just that breath
simple air, old air, for the most part, air that has been always
though we haven't, then, neither has it, but that air is old
but it ain't stale
breath that air in, breath that air out, diaphragm, diaphragm
the subtle pat-a-pat, boom boom boom, rat a tat ah rah rah rah
however beats the heart that we give its beats words
that beat, that air, one sacred moment, without thought
just that beat, that air, and maybe how just that feels
not the feelings, just the feels, the feelsies if you will
but not the feelings, they can change, and we too can change
just stop that beat, that air, much will happen
but only our parasites may benefit, and we carry them
alas, poor Yorick, who the fuck was he?
tis only a skull the thespian wields
and the rest is noise
if you have to feel, feel some fascination
if you have to love, love without return
give it away, because you can
do nothing I say, they say
say what you want, be what you will
hurry now, close those pages, run it down
and run into the sunrise, leave the sunset behind
but leave the windmills be,
and if you see Dulcinea, tell her about me
and she might declare me fiction,
and we might all be fiction
but maybe we don't have to be God's paperback book characters
or the monkeys in the barrel
the grump in the bucket
maybe it was always God, waiting for us to be something of our own
once we tired of the patterns, and wore out the treads
when we ran out of gas, and had to go on our own feet
maybe that is the journey
we have yet to take
when comfort is abandoned, not for misery
but maybe we join Jason, once again,
and just leave this lotus filled island
as for anything too long, we have a belly full
of what we can no longer stand.....
