February 12, 2007

the grand tilt

fly back and forth
can anyone catch them?
decipher them?
embrace them?
what means one thing to another
means volumes to the next
or nothing to a passer-by
will ever the twixt meet?
but you see, it's really just air
being pushed back and forth

come away with meaning
run far with intent
I won't catch you
I don't have a clue why we're all here

I'm still bedazzled by the verbiage
so eloquent
so heart-felt
so full of rotting shit

arrows of reason gone off the mark
was your goal to ensnare me?
I watch the mental barrage
open hearted
this bull's eye is painted blue....
for resignation

and the purpose of those words?
did I even rub near?
or was I too busy chasing after
flowery and nether
phrases of profundity,
too close to the universe's rim
to notice I had left behind
no markers for retreat?

the faire has come to town
and befuddlement sets in
when the jugglers do their grand tilts
but please,
don't bother your little head over spilt intent

why don't i feel anything?
is this numbness?
or is this just the lot of those
washed up on the shores
of holocastic fits of awareness?

the folly and the ectasy

have you ever taken a trip into madness?
oh, I don't mean go mad on your own steam,
slipping into that place,
that comfortable place that harbors no good will

no, I mean a trip, a real jog across dimensions,
one where the button on your jacket
gets caught on the coat tails
of a frequent traveler

a trip so surreal, so absurd, so sublime....
can I say that? without appearing trite?
hmmm, I guess so
since I'm a drifter too

this destination seems almost familiar
the vista
the visions
the voices
even the circular landing patterns,
that perpendicular swing of fractured emotions,
so familiar.....

is this destination a vacation spot for many?
it almost seems....like home
the folly and the ectasy,
the truant mind-voyager's terminal....
yep....right at home

the dance of the effigy

the wicker-visaged scarecrow
is once again used as a bon voyage
for emotions gone cascading towards extinction

it's hollow veins and dry shell course
with parallel memories that never made sense

it doesn't speak nor give any indication
that it is even viable....
but look closely,
close as you dare

that's not dew on it's straw cheeks,
that my friends is moisture
condensed from a heart
battle-wrung with the
vigorous denials of life,
the whys and wherefors
simply dust in it's mouth

the drizzle, so necessary for speach
never makes it home
before the dessication hits

no words can be spoken
for the arid atmosphere
is not conducive to affection

feel sorrow for this flapping effigy,
it is misunderstood and ignored
by those beings made of earthly flesh

but you know......
this lonely beacon
would petition for feelings too
if all weren't so greedy with their hearth
and foes