Okay, Now I'm Just Confused

Something was turned
Inside out
That started out
That way;
So, perhaps
Now it's
Right side in
But it's
Very hard
To say;
If only
I knew
What it was
I'd know
If it's
Supposed
To look
This way.

Headache Haiku

That special, magic
Point of sharp annerism
Flooding summer days.

Break-ups Can be Hard

A perfect circle
Cut in two
Not so perfect
But two halves
Equally capable
Of inviting in
Ideas or
Infection.
The common cold
A perfect
Disease
For which there is
No cure,
Only endurance.
How does
Something perfect
Endure
Being cut
Apart
With the surety,
The glee
Of the chop
Of a butcher's
Knife.

Underwhelming Nervous Breakdown

Unsettled:
A roaring
In my ears,
Everything
Fades
Away,
The World
Becomes
Impossibly distant,
A star
Spied
From the bottom
Of a well,
A frozen Inferno,
The eye
Of the storm,
One
Dead
Moment
Of calm
Before everything
Is torn
Apart:
Overwhelmed

An Ode to Pond Water

Slow, running waters

Flowing circular

Willing

But unable

To find the ocean

They slow to a trickle

Run to a roar

But never get anywhere

Until they slow

Stop

Stagnate

Atrophe

In essence

A mind

Wasted.

Fun with Factual Fiction

A fact

Which is

In fact

Fiction

Is simply

A

Very

Old

Fact:

However,

Something

New

Becomes

Something

Old

Very quickly,

Often

Within

The moment

Of

Conception:

So,

All

New

Facts

Are

In fact

Old:

Therefore,

All

Facts

Are

In fact

Fiction.

I Do Not Wish to be Part of this Enclosure

A puzzle:
Two ends of string
Attached, but not really
Not physically, anyway
I pull them apart
I bring them together
They hiss
They spark
They hiss
They spark
But their purpose
Is still unclear
I stop and stare
I hmmm and wiggle the string
It's indifferent either way
I tie the ends together
Creating an oroborus
Which turns into a snake
Bites me
It won't let go
Coiling around me
Until I and the two ends are one
Either end attached physically
By my very presence
It is hard to tell which is me
Which is string
So endlessly tangled are we
Into the same entity
The string must end one place
I must begin another:
A new puzzle.

When things become unbearable
Pretend that life is nothing more
Than a dream
And the solution to every problem
Is nothing more than merely
Waking up.
Do not contemplate how
The waking is to be done
For that is at its heart
A deeper mystery
With little to tell
If an attempt at waking
Will have the desired result
Or induce a deeper
More problematic
Level of sleep
From which waking
Would be more fervently
Wished.
Instead
Open eyes
And be patient
We all wake up
Eventually.

The World Turned on its End and Shaken

Through the eyes of God
The world must seem distant
A speck floating through space:
Interesting enough close up;
A forgotten toy in the distance
Which withers under neglect.
Like any ant farm
Upset at the slightest disaster
Without a pair of giant hands
To set it right.
A thing of small consequence
Viewed at a distance
Through the wrong end
Of a telescope
Which sets it
At an even greater remove
From which a world on fire
Resembles nothing more
Than the glow of a brilliant star.

Life Grows More or Less Meaningful at a Distance

At the end of days
I will look back and wonder
At each second wasted
On every little thing
The worries and fights
Over scraps of land
Their purpose
In the face of easier and more fruitful victories
Long since forgotten
Countless moments spent on reflections
That reflect nothing
On inventions
That have no use
But, if not for every little thing
How would I fill my days
Waiting for the big things
Only to look back on life
And realize
That I have nothing.

Circular Logic

If I had the time, I'd do one thousand things
But time isn't enough, action costs money
If I had the money, I'd do one thousand things
But money isn't enough, people need to spend it
If I had the people, I'd do one thousand things
But people aren't enough, luck brings everything together
If I had the luck, I'd do one thousand things
But one of these isn't enough, you need everything
If I had everything, I'd do one thousand things
But everything isn't enough, without conflict
There is no drive to succeed
If I had nothing, I would do one thousand things
In an attempt to get everything
If I had everything
I would do nothing.

Growing Bored of Boards

It's a world of sin

That breeds malice from within

And is voiced without a sound

It's a secret thing

A hushed meeting

Shamed when others are around

As the world grows dark

Under this heavy mark

Until remorse cannot be found

It's a corpse that walks

And scrapes and knocks

Upon the boards to get back beneath the ground.

Frustration

Frustration courses through my veins
Lighting agony
And powerful delight
The strength of a supernova
Barely cognizant
That it's power is derived
From self-destruction.

Good Help is Impossible to Find

In the back room
There are many secrets
Monsters and skeletons
In a constant state of agitation
That are better left undisturbed.
There are no sounds from within
But the feeling permeates the air
Making the guard uneasy
Glancing forward, glancing back
Pacing the narrow hall
With each repetition
Getting ever nearer to the room
The hand making aborted gestures
To grasp the handle, just to peek
Make sure everything is okay.
It's only when the guard sits
Contemplating the danger
Concluding that it's an apparition
The fancies of a bored imagination
A mind occupied in a body
In need of a vacation
That the hand grabs the knob
And all hell is released
With the sudden reminder
Of what happened
To the last guard.

Afraid of Getting Wet

Playfully, the water comes
Biting at my ankles
Deeply creative
Making a pool
Where there was none
It fills the room
Making a tomb
Where there was none
It is an uninvited guest.

The Weather (Haiku)

With large, tearfelt eyes
I tear apart my pupils
Blinded by Spring's death

This Ship has Sailed with Me Beneath It

Squinting at the sun

Until dancing spots of blindness

Block the trees from view

Forming skeletal hands

Waving in the breeze.

Sometimes they reject

Sometimes they beckon,

A gesture hurrying

Inviting people to surrender

The burden to life

To the solace of death

The nothingness of being

Bound in a still pool

For all eternity.

Watching as skeletal trees

Beckon your fellows.

Never being able to interact

With any of them.

Eternally bored and alone

Nothing matters anymore.

Old Man in a Box

The old man shivers
Inside the shallow box
An oak chest left in the corner
He endures iron heat
And Tunston cold
To hide from winter.

Humanitarian Implosion

The world falls inward

Collapsing

Consuming itself

In a feeding frenzy

Of life eradicating life

In a henious scheme

To survive

To surpass

To sacrifice

The competition.

Until nothing is left

Just this empty husk

Of a ruined ball

Falling through space

Until it meets another world

And, true to the spirit of genocide

Collides.

The Indifferent Value of Rainfall

I offered you my life
My heart
My soul
My allegiance
To your meaningless cause
Which in turn found such sentiments
Meaningless.
Motherhood in a bottle
Ready for sale
Without the emotional pitfalls.
So discarded
I picked up my heart
My soul
My allegiance
To save for a time when such useless things
Might be useful.
It was only then
My offer rescinded
That they were desired
A valueless thing given value
In the want of having.
A summer storm
Feeding the land
But only welcome after drought.
Hesitant
I gave them once more
Only to have them scattered
Their luster gone once held in the hand.
More the fool me,
To expect someone outside myself
To love the things I love
To find value in my values.
Motherhood did not grant that empathy
Only the baby to match a handbag
An accessory to responsibility
In fashion, but not in name.
Now I must gather my things once more
And hold them close to my chest
So that the value in a glimpse
Will not be lost
With a closer look.

Pitiful Infinity

The sand falls way to dust
The ocean dragged out to sea
Abandoning the parched land
The orphaned boats.
Eternity awaits on the other side
But eternity is a chimera
The vision promised by the water's edge
Moving further away with every step.
A lost romance
As the sky grows heavy
Pregnant with rain
That hails a punishing tattoo
But fails to fill the basin
The sand remains parched
And crumbles to dust
Under feet that had sought to walk a million miles
To find the end of the Earth
Only to find the end of eternity
In a hole.

Nature is Terrifying

Laying in the woods
Among a thousand more fortunate trees
There lies a hallow log
Stark brown against the greenery.
I stumble upon it
Lost and unaware
Everything looks the same.
I crawl inside
Curl up
Fall asleep
Insect crawling over my skin
Like a parent's caress.
When I wake it is dark
Either end of the log grown over
In a gasp of life
I push against the walls
They are strong.
I lay down
Stare above me
Fall asleep.
When I wake it's darker still
I am grown over with vines
I pull and struggle
They are strong.
I stare about me
How long was I asleep?

Insubstantial Concrete

I laugh
My skin lying ruined
In strips on the floor.
Isn't life a funny thing?
I lay on cool tile,
Curl into a ball
Muttering.
A change in the mind
Equates a change in the body
My chrysalis stands
An empty shell in the corner.
I pull the shredded skin over myself
My body encased in its folds
My head encapsulated
And peek out through the tears
At the dim light above.
I don't like what I've become
I want to go back,
But not to where I was.
I want to go back
To where other people used to be
That elusive thing:
The happy childhood
Held on a pedestal
An exulted chimera.

The Problem When you Have the Bomb,
Is that Someone Might Set it Off

The guns are loaded
The guns are aimed
The target
Carefully chosen
On a whim.
Fired in haste
The scattered repentance
Not to repent.
Another round
The guns jam
And with a roaring whine
Backfire.
It's not the time
To place blame,
But take care
The floor is carpeted with bombs,
A security blanket
That will never betray,
A brilliant defense
To have the deadliest offense
Buried at home.
So relax,
Anyone stupid enough to attack
Would have one hell of a comeuppance,
Just remember,
Not to light a match:
You can't smoke in here.

Repression In Memorandum

I am the lifeless face of dawn
The morning brings no comfort
With its wisps of promise gone,
The dregs of the dreaming mind
Violated, unable to prolong
The harsh reality of day;
Instead pulled flush with the wan
Light of consciousness
Brining nothing new, more of the same.
I am the faceless light of dawn
A cold thing that scorches the flesh
Leaving the soul forgot and forgone
Praying for the sun to penetrate,
Waiting in longing far too long,
Unable to bare the chill of shadow,
The dread of night, hurrying day along
With all the indifference of a metronome
Marking time in action more than name.
I am the empty promise of dawn,
I am the suffering we prolong,
A memory.

With Time the Self Depreciates in Value

Obsessive foe
That dogs me
Nipping at my heels
With the incessant whine
Of matrimony
Penultimate in annoyance
Only to actually being in matrimony.
Do not attempt to trap me
With your bobbles
Your poor disguises
Your pantomime of goodness
I have never shown you
Such affection
To suggest I am interested in
Or even worthy of
Such attention,
Be said worth
For better or for worse.
I am not something to be bought in a store,
And even if I were
There is the matter of your taste:
With so many other choices
So many other prospective mates to
Engage in shallow engagements,
I wouldn't marry me.

Depressive Dysphoria

It's hidden beneath the skin:
This creature of glass,
Constantly reforming,
Breaking,
And reforming again.
It travels through the veins
Living on the nutrients
That would otherwise
Keep the body healthy.
It wastes away the host
Scratching and Stealing
Beneath the surface
Until the skin becomes paper,
The host muttering
About want and discomfort
In a listless way
That gives those nearby
No need to heed
Those half assembled phrases
That evaporate on the air,
But pieced together tell of something:
A warning,
Which transforms
Into an invitation
For the next victim
To come
A little
Closer.
I have something to tell you.

My Hat Lies Half Empty,

Only Because I refuse to Fill it

A world in time divides us
One hand from the other
An eternity waxes on:
Its monotonous metronome
A wake up call to go back to sleep.
There is no future in such waiting
But there's a decadent delight
In whiling away the time in such a wasteful manner
Doing nothing, waiting for time to pass
Waiting for the future to come calling.
Which is does, eventually
But it always forgets to bring the spoils
Of everything ever wanted
But never voiced.
A voice unvoiced is another decadent waste
So that makes two,

Something to show for nothing,
At least there's that.

Two Eyes Staring Back

A reflection
Reflected against itself
Shows nothing
A void
Shaped in harsh despair.
To walk between them
Like parting indifferent lovers
With little of yourself to show for it.
The light of their eyes is incredibly bright
Shining out a beacon
A cry for help
A yen to be free from the shallow pond
That makes up either mirrors' reflective surface.
Most frightening of all
In this silent staring contest
Is the onlooker's desire
To be beautiful like glass
With no more substance
Under the assumption
That to lack true dimension
Is to lead a painless life,
And therefore
Be truly free.

The World Outside Myself, Looking In

There is a box
A perplexing thing
A puzzle.
It's open:
Peering in to find
Nothing inside.
It's closed:
Listening intently
As it rattles.
Something sounds as though it should be visible,
Something invisible.
The box is turned over,
It rattles.
The insides are exposed
Upside down:
It quivers and shivers and shakes,
But not a sound.
Peering at the ground:
There is nothing.
Searching inside the box:
There is nothing still.
Closing and shaking the box:
It rattles.
Something inside that should be visible
Is invisible.
A puzzling paradox.
Staring at the box,
Biting at nail then lip,
Reaching a hand inside:
Shock and discomfort,
The thing has teeth.
The hand is gone:
Become a thing invisible
That should be visible.
Peering, inside the box:
Is nothing.
Listening to the box:
It thumps.
But that puzzle is only part
Of a much more perplexing problem
Now.

In Reprimand

Standing very still
A grim smile,
Eyes appraising
Hands clasped in backwards prayer.
The dimming lights
As one is brought to kneel
Without thought to pray
Or at least not pray to God
Or any god but the one standing
Before eyes upreaching
To a figure shrouded in the halo
Of a compact florescent bulb.
Again a stern smile,
The day is getting longer
Each moment in this place
Stretching out to eternity.
The air rent by the silence
Of that close mouthed flash of teeth
Reflecting God and godlessness
Forgiveness and damnation
In one mundane package
Made utterly divine by circumstance.
A footstep closer,
Hands falling to either side
And I'll give you anything,
Just say something
Do something
Let it be done.