her mouth's a genocide and I’m the foolishly sympathetic sea stacks
that stand there-- immobile-- taking each beating
from the surf, the waves that crash on my dignity,
breaking incessantly. pounding--the only metronome in this rythym-less nightmare
from which I wake alerted by fear, by apathy in a cold sweat,
by the vexatious alarm ringing in my head but not in reality
brain freezes and fatty ice cream can’t cure this affliction
of paranoia and impossible fantasies spliced into tonight’s special
feature film. in the next hour, tune in to the exploitation
of the sparse feelings that remain. too late, power failure,
blackout in a suburban neighborhood, of unacquainted co-inhabitants
living micro-existences, subdivided by all nuances by which one ought
not to prejudice
not to prejudice
but hesitations lapse, the grid reboots and the cycle resumes
from square one
focused under overheated incandescent bulbs. beneath a lens and cover slip
but far from observation. neglected, consciously overlooked
a social experiment without intent. just incubated to near eruption
build ups of pressure, internally, externally--accidentally.
the forces of contemporary society. the oceans that dictate
modern survival. the seas the test and manipulate
to the extent of drowning victims drowning in self anguish
mellow, hollow and still un-phased
none to act out the mind's meager plays
dramas without substance, pitifully toyed with by a director
who himself lacks the vision. the mental performances repeat,
common in theme. a complete [and totally expected] about-face of desire
from solidity and steady emotion to relentless urges for superficiality
but yet again the heart pulsates on a different line
and so, like described, spotlight thievery--if only another felt the same
the similar want to spontaneity and the intangible.
