Poetry (Not)

To hide
I undress
To dissemble
I disassemble
To repent
I rebuild
To reveal
I redress

This is a pitiful availability
Are you serious?
All you purport is you are a harassed
Overstrained paperweight
All the tearless basics on your agenda
Are unmoved by poesy and embarrassing 
To most commonly unforeseen imprudence
All resolve to evolve into moods specious and disproportionate
And misinterpreting of compromises
Again and again and again and again!

Started an up to date Web project
Started an unusual cobweb throw
Started to update spider’s web
Started…
Tried…
Tired.
Evil seems a completed thought.

Far seeing once meant
The future withholds wonderful things,
Private answers all remarkably admitted.
Now, it predicts breakfast.

Week of 11/5 in Sagittarius: The poem that is written about the sun is waiting for you, but you have to write it. – Astro Poets (@poetastrologers)

much elegance neglected
decay winding a peculiar ballooned heart
convinced it was mistaken
breathing on all these dirty windows
fogging them blind gold

It’s a rattling nice place.
After my altered engagement
Truly programming is nothing
However it’s a logic
That does not come to me.

Started new
My novel number
It is error

An ouroboros is cathexic by nature.
By nature, an ouroboros is cathexic.
Cathexic by nature is an ouroboros.
An ouroboros is cathexic by nature …
Repeat until there are no more margaritas.
Margaritas are finite, but delicious.

“Why is it on 12th place it deserves to be in top 5!”
Because…
… I outrun my shadow
… she sprints to catch me
… I can hear the hounds behind us
… she can see the tigers ahead
… I do not need to win
… she does not want to lose

“When someone writes an article he/she maintains the image of a reader in his/her brain.”
This is not entirely true
I don’t imagine you
This me you see–
–even stream-of-consciousnessly?
Is a crafted point of view.

As a child, I did science
To contain and explain
Madness
I wanted to be more
Than flesh and bone,
Hormones and hysteria
I knew … like I knew everything
That logic could
Let me leap out of the mud
Allowing me to fly
Through even God’s fingers

It did.

In college, science didn’t want me
I was too mad to love
My logic all circumstantial,
Conditional,
Anecdotal
Poetry was a better fit
But I knew … like I still knew everything
That poetry could
Starve me so much
That my meat and its needs
Would betray me
Crushing me back into the dirt

I did not give it that chance.

In adulthood, I have said
“I am not that“
I was this instead
“I do not do that“
I did this instead
“And I will be“
And I was someone else
“And I will do“
And I did something else
But in truth, I have just done
Only what a bee does
Fading flower to brighter flower to next flower
But dumping my cargo
So I won’t be forced to land

There is no more ground to fear now
And I am no longer as certain of the sky
Or that I know anything.

Oh, how to start?
Where I am now
Is even less me than art
The feinting thump
Of an armadillo heart
Hey, I can walk in your shoes all day
Probably best to keep it that way.

Everything changes
Ashes to dust
Tears to wind
Everything reinvents

Where was I?
Once upon a time, I was at the revolution
With the bright burning ones
And the dirty awkward ones
All uncomfortable in their skins.
Hands in pockets, I was there.
Witness, though, not martyr.
I’ve no desire?
Yes, that’s been said.
You’ve no desire.
But I still am what I was
I am content to build the world from that
Rather than destroy it to suit me.
Yes, I was there.
And I am still here.