Post Crash
life’s this-and-that's
come to an end,
down into a final tunnel,
sunlight’s edge,
where a single precise chop
plunges fate’s cleaver.
all at once
everything is embarrassed
and not fitting in,
weak as a whimper,
unable to travel or excel,
lonely in this forced self-
judgmental place,
where patience
dribbles pride into a bedpan.
it is now you
who speaks to ancestors,
you who conjures visions:
chimeras of carnal beasts
sinful of primal parts.
nothing else to do.
it is you who watches
the outside world blur
into tricks of charades,
puppets who would puppeteer,
yanking in a mutual harness so vast
no one commandeers it.
it is you
who no longer cares
about knots in the guts of social distress.
you who now feverish
makes love to a touchless spirit,
seeking more than anything
only her name.
nothing else to do.
and when the serene stills the circus,
there's no reward.
no god comes out to play. no cheers.
the world breeds on,
ruddy from laughter,
sobbing in anguish,
and everyone fails
to scrounge up some puny epitaph
for your fading name.
9/8 "her" replaces "their" ... wanted a female goddess theme, personal preference
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment