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Don't let them tell you

You had just one job,

they always expected more.

They say, Just be yourself,

as though given a choice.

Stand up for yourself.

Don't believe enough is ever enough,

it is only enough.

The first bird and the last owl

awake

are equal aviators

afflicted with (chronic) fomo-curious-itosis.

Silver bullets and linings should help save us

before things change anymore.

We have nothing better to do

than keep busy, make haste and donate

to causes

we make no effect on reason

such as why the wherewithall has

deteriorated and became dilapidated into

three-wheeling metallic adages.

Don't ask. Don't listen. Don’t look Back.

Don't do them.

Reason is revived with hind-

sight. You will see later.

The Truth

will set you free

to follow your heart,

to do what you love,

to be mindful,

to forgive and forget

Thyself

and rest in peace

lying down.

Take it.

Your Time

is up.

Painting by Édouard Manet [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Decorating mud cakes

Apathy spreads so easily,

thriving amongst any localized

biodiversity.

Ears sprout in fields from yellow seas

of mono-cropping. The wind grinds down

our meals into muted mush, nourish us,

the sun glows, chicken,

adapting itself in ambiance to the best

propagation of pessimism and

immunology in world-wide webs.

Saturation is more suitable for delusional

desires by dreamers who water down rainbows

as casualty.

There is no wonder

anymore.

Where does the marrow go

when our spines shrivel...

Clouds cure any silly thoughts of happy

or stupid glee, i.e. beauty. Muddy skies slog unmixed 
clods and none bother asking why

Life continues this way.

Over our heads. 
We would never see any reason

for it coming

down

in all shades of brown and grey.
We wont look up. 

Painting By Rogers, Gilbert (MBE) [Public domain], c. 1919 via Wikimedia Commons.

Hand me downs (II)

The local train blares by

to cause alarm

although familiar, futility gains strength with steam.

With this new engineer at the helm from the rear

he calls *Attention* to his pressures and passages

as though he

the town crier knew the time

anymore.

This whine is the bell vibrating raw gravity-

                           hard to see

coming straight, near, far, coming, going...

All the rest is color coded for us,

              lights and trigger switches

are on the outside, green and red, black and blue

Stop and Go for Simons followers.

The straight path, as the crow flies,

is soft and well worn, even in the sky

                     drawing diameters

in his radii, he is right on a smooth track.

To make it back home for dinner, meatloaf.

To rely on regular things such as

weak forces, sympathy and cacophonies.

Painting by Frits Thaulow, The train is arriving (1881) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The over prepared understudy

It is too late for some.

But you-

     You have arrived early

I see...barely.

Still,

you are here Now,

and glad as I may-be-

the lighting is too lime.

Notice:

when lit

Red

_On Air_

Please remain silent (until instructed)

to *LAUGH*

It will make sense

later. In sync now.

You will make others feel better

             staying so small.

Paranoia, now that was non-sense.

Don't take it wrong.

Happy to have you

closer in proximity.

It helps with reruns and rehearsals.

Can you clear me now? Touch me back. I will erase

you later.

Your steam box is stocked,

spliced lines strung taut to span

and other puppet conclusions pulled

off and on; all or nothing wound up.

See, these are decent occupations.

Twisted dearly elusive creatives

try to embrace your loneliness like this-

center stage. Affront and Solo.

The audience of actors shall applaud

                   with gusto.

It is the Last Act.

Your timing has never been better.

Painting by Everett Shinn (1903) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Flashy fades

A flashy glimmer like cut gem facets

pointed from deep inside those eyes

your two, made it seem

we knew what was coming.

We did not.

It looks like we have something important to do.

We will wait.

Honestly,

if we continue this way

all falls into place just so

we know more

about manipulation

and virtual reality

will it help...

Do not answer that. Let it ring.

Strange. This dry confidence permeates

by civilian ardor.

Suddenly, we had trouble

breathing.

The Progress.

Some gasped, as if they could take more.

Others sobbed in sync.

Most of us never knew

nor cared to quarry

deeper.

Distribution thins out

when princes runout

of fission for our future necessities

sparing only

cherished memories.

Patience. It will always come

for you.

Painting By James Campbell (1828 - 1893), Waiting for Legal Advice (1857),  (British) Born in Liverpool, England. Dead in Birkenhead, England. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

No vacancies

It is the voice, or sound
as far as limits and ripples can----
as loud as the noise altogether

static, each wrinkle folds under
the aging and erosion,
older than dirt lays claim,

lighter than air, dust-skin,
settled palimpsest
on rice paper arms, 

by shreds of rags and stitches 
to cover the cold.
Shivers scream inside, 

turbidity of the spirit, malicious matters
needing shelter; brittle now
by leaves, dry twigs,

words, thorns, starlight and smoke
becalmed back to the senses
in a murmur of metaphor,

rewritten as revelation. 
Must Have.
Must Heard. 

Image credit By Scan by NYPL [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Substitute Stars

Might it be that Mars is merely winking this way, ogling in orbit
then blushed when he saw-Us-
shadowed in his ruby glare?

All this while the meager moon hides behind a curtain in the corner;
shedding layers, seductively buoyed by 
        dark energy that winds while she rests up

in the next phase, the stars seem scattered by correlation 
but brighter by chaos; letting go of the lighter matters, 
you see

Colors could care less about our splendid collections,
kaleidoscopes and metronomes,
fractals and turbines, mirrors and machines, making
        more of that 
        and like this 
one oasis in potential grants more than any one wish
deservedly.

Tiny toys, glam and glitterati, Lucy and her rocks, likes
G.I. Joe and his grenades, helplessly She lies by He
pulling pins out of her hair, stripping down to barren
        and lighting matches like flares, indistinguishable
        in the universe.

We watch, perverted and diverted in curiosity, vapidly
spreading green gasses of dank envy throughout this galaxy,
as far as stars are pointed by projection,
there will be black holes
in his story.

Image credit By NASA and The Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Details: "NASA's Hubble Space Telescope took the picture of Mars on June 26, 2001, when Mars was approximately 68 million kilometers (43 million miles) from Earth — the closest Mars has ever been to Earth since 1988. Hubble can see details as small as 16 kilometers (10 miles) across. The colors have been carefully balanced to give a realistic view of Mars' hues as they might appear through a telescope. Especially striking is the large amount of seasonal dust storm activity seen in this image. One large storm system is churning high above the northern polar cap (top of image), and a smaller dust storm cloud can be seen nearby. Another large dust storm is spilling out of the giant Hellas impact basin in the Southern Hemisphere (lower right)."