New poem.
inside this
clothing
an average wrapper of
slightly sagging skin upon
an average man
who’s been eaten smaller
by his age
he undresses himself
before sleep
stands in front of
a former enemy
a mirror
sees
wisdom about
and love for
himself
revealed in how
his folded hands rest
upon his loose husk
of a belly
those things
were once
so hard
to see
now they stand out
against approaching
Dark
and offer him
surprising comfort
before Sleep
Originally posted 3/20/2012.
In the history of government
there are a million examples
of how they begin, but only one
of how they end: they end
with the venal
gaming their way to power
and staying there regardless
of the labels they choose to wear.
In the history of nations
it doesn’t matter how the people love them.
They only love you back
a little, and only at certain times.
In the history of history
it doesn’t matter what happens,
only what is said about what happened
or did not happen, or is said
to have not happened;
in the history of history
there are but two nations —
the strugglers and the lords.
In the history of humans
there’s dancing and loving
and the making of art and music;
there’s good sweat, grand tears,
and a lot of laughter,
but do not confuse that
with the history of government and nation.
If you want to pursue happiness,
know that government and nation
pursue happiness too —
and they do it, always,
by chasing and catching
you.
Originally posted on 3/5/2014.
Stop
calling
what I do
therapy.
Stop calling therapy
what exists to spite disorder,
what persists after breakdowns and
attempts.
Stop calling therapy
what I would do more of
if I were less
a mess.
Stop calling therapy
what I call breathing.
Stop calling therapy what I call
my self, spread on paper.
Stop calling triggers on guns
material. Stop calling
triggers on others’ lips
material.
Stop calling too-blunt knives
and weak pills and slender ropes
and bed restraints and hours
of paying to talk around agony
“the dark timber of my art.”
Stop calling.
Stop insisting,
stop speaking
of therapy.
Stop in fact your fantasy of why
and what and how;
for me this is no pressure valve
and verse is not surgery.
I’ve written
hundreds of thousands
of words
or more;
if it worked,
if it was
as you say,
I’d be fine.
Dark Matter 