Remember it so

By now,
neurologists all know
we lie
and believe what
is so
vivid enough to make
it so-
in our alternate reality,
what we call memory.

Who was there to witness
it so-
they can testify the truth
as it happened by view
they say-
it is,
so we believe it.

Duality seems determined
by a parallelogram sent
from another timeline
started forever ago,
we think we know
it so-
Infinite possibilities
project our stories,
our memories,
our-one time-
gone another way.

So tell it all ways, build
it so
intricate and elaborate, that
it is
simply the best story
only you know
by now.




Image of painting by John White Alexander [No restrictions or Public domain], Memories (1903) via Wikimedia Commons.

Fear Fiends

If every single one of us
stopped right Now-
pointing aim and angle-
no longer letting out the line
tightening the drag
on those baiting fear
would schools be safe?

If every personhood
could forget they ever saw terror
we could forget its name and
claim for attention and mention.

If we remained strangers
violence would be candy
that decays our good taste.

If all of our hands were clean
we could touch without harm,
and move without touch
yet the lines are long
and gloved with grime.

If we knew how to weild love
without fear of rejection
violence would be in vain.

This stress has made a bloody mess
of bones to pick and bodies to bury.
We have come weak with atrophy
choosing wealth over value,
terrified by the tought of loss.

The fear we put here
as bearers of terrors
we make
hearts ache.


Image By Popular Publications (Scanned cover of pulp magazine) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Femme

Lips for licking words
sweet and sour said to taste, tongue
buds roses and thorns.




Image of painting by Władysław Czachórski [Public domain], First Roses (1891) via Wikimedia Commons.

Keeping it Inside Out (There)

Between you and I
secrets
Yes
You've seen parts
none cared
for, but me.

You see,
remember that time
you knew
I was lying
or the time
you knew truth
was hiding right there
and both times
you thought,
why not?

Or of a poet-
that needs words
that hold places for
secrets
that are not known
but shown
anyway...
In between
poetry shared
somewhere
someone
else may
someday
care
and keep
secrets 
with me.




Image by Julia Margaret Cameron [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Pro Crastinator

When it finally all came out
and was nowhere near right,
I tried again.

And it was worse.
So I started over
with countless scratches and
don't sniff around-
it stinks!

Well, all I could do
was begin anew
way of coming at it-

Quit is not a possibility,
cruelly
Failure is my reality
and I see,
this jutting angle
enmeshed in the rest
will work,
once I throw it out
the window.
There's always tomorrow.



Image of painting By Anton Laupheimer (1848–1927) (Auktionshaus Zeller) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Poet's Dream-by P.B. Shelley

The Poet's Dream 

by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

On a poet's lips I slept

Dreaming like a love adept

In the sound his breathing kept;

Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses,

But feeds on the aerial kisses,

Of shapes that haunt thoughts wildernesses. 

He will watch from dawn to gloom

The lake reflected sun illume

The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom

Nor heed nor see, what things they be;

But from these create he can

Forms more real than living man,

Nurslings of immortality!

One of these awakened me,

And I sped to succour thee.

Image of painting by Jozef Israëls [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The missing lyrics

When I do not say
                           it is not that-
I made this mask
                          this way.
You can see its guts
                         through the eyes...
The cogs and fogs.

When I listen
                         I welcome news
from outside.
To share a smile
                         is a welcome view,
a radiant defiance of conservation.
When I hear
                         music in the mundane,
I take it out
                        of context
and am moved by its song.

When spoken
                        I regret empty words,
that fulfill
                        nothing perfectly.
All the non-existent ways-
                        I said nothing
In so many days-
                        it has all been said.
I am done telling
                         All,
when I do not say.



Image of painting by Vittorio Matteo Corcos (1892), [Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons.