…if music moves you, check this out: Trevor Hall, “Well I Say”
“Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet’s abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; Out of his grief, delight and rage.”
It seems to me, the in-between, a grandest incongruency. Pythagoras hypotheses aristocrat hypocrisies conglomeration sits in me, the ugly hidden truth wants free.
Lies to be await in greed, catastrophes and terror attacks: love, and other fiscal facts or fiction acts, these cataracts can blind the bliss inside of thee. Unserene, in flight careens my purpose from your point of view. It fits, I wear it. Freedom’s shoe. (Never on the other foot, but then again what else is new.) Stars will shine as mountains move when feet shall kiss the morning dew.
Yes, it’s true. I stand in blue, but sit in red for me shalln’t do. The owl sings, “Coo coo ca choo,” his lonesome twilight song to you. A funeral has sounded and a death-march rhythm sways here too. Resounding, see; abounds in me, complacency warps everything. Pretense pars the course for you — effective is this angle! — when the righteousness and sacredness of matrimony won’t compute.
Will or would not, can untangle. All the deep deceptions mangle any hope we had to soothe and winds will soon die down til there is nothing left of what we knew.
I voted in my college years; you wouldn’t recognize me, no. Not then not now, the bloated cow, too rotten for my stomach. Soul. Loudly testifying, oh the edifying rocks must roll; collect no moss and get our due awaiting what becomes of you. Oh what are we abiding?
Rub the crystal ball, she sings. Jezebel shall kiss the ring — confess, repent, forgive, it’s gold! — and this is how corrupt unfolds, no holy hold have slaves to the big-bad-machine until untold a million other depths unseen become the countless shades of green. Envy rouge but seldom who; “adding unto nothing new and seldom question what we do…” This defines the core of you while everything grows empty. Ew.
Fine me if you must or dare, charge it to me fair and square. Lenience, of lingered leaning keeps the pride-man (misdemeaning all the wrongs he sees within me) laughs a victor’s type of laugh. Here, the place can trump the path. But I don’t care, there’s nothing there, the lens is out of focus. Map? Nothing more or less than math. Divide divide divided.
Looking glass and bell jar too, the lighthouse shines its light for you but who controls the sails within? There is no aim, there’s only sin. Mindless satisfies in him the whole and sum of parts un-kin.
No, I longer no abide no biting nonsense no and sigh; the prey is screaming haiku isms, help was always on the way. Bite the tongue the heart shall pray but we will lose the trail and stay not ever in one single place. My, we make a maddened schism. Meaningless, the sufferage in them; silent tragic cataclysm. Lost so we can wander; stay, and keep my sorrows long at bay for thee, the bell must toll and pay. Penance for the huge misgivings, not repentance. Not to give me. Not to think of karmic due. Not for us, but only you. Always always only who is early gets the dirty worm; the bird of prey will watch him squirm while merciless the beak shall chomp and chew your broken soul in two. Chomp the life right out of you.