squid ink and the whispering shadows

“give me a bottle of anything… and a glazed donut” –david lee roth

 

the leaves were raked by a violent wind

 

she sits silent and alone on her birthday

staring at the flickering screen

a half eaten cupcake on her lap

the candle she lit for herself and blew out

still stuck in the center

 

the concrete of dreams is shattered

by the sledgehammer of memories

 

dreamers debate with the disenfranchised

as to whether the state of the half class

has a mass that is empty or full

 

but the broken soul knows

the glass never existed

and delight or debunk

is merely a perception

 

you stake a claim

in the mines of knowledge

life experience, books or college

a mind is a terrible thing to waste

on a reality populated with absolutes

 

once again ugly or cute

is in the eye of the beholder

 

sadness is what we shoulder

and your word balm does not calm

it only constitutes

that you are resolute to reject

unless we accept your view

on what matters

 

i have morals

there is a right and wrong

i will quarrel

 

but i will not entertain

your rejection

where you disdain in refrain

that if i just swallow your colors

my farts will smell like roses

and we can occupy the same room

 

sadness is not a conclusion

it is worn from a lifetime

of wardrobe changes

 

stagehands rearrange the props

the producer demands

the scene be re-written

but it is all just acting

and it is nowhere near

approaching art

 

i will not write with delight

as i insight on the painted faces

going through the paces

performing like the day

is more than our side of

the earth having a moment

in the sun

 

you talk to me as if i need answers

to only the questions you have asked

 

i do not need to change

 

my thoughts are a

predetermined motion

that all motion is without meaning

and therefore it does not

need to be done a certain way

 

today i play with shadows in my mind

whatever else you are hoping to find

it will not be among words whipped up

and served from a recipe i concocted

called, “nothing matters”

 

decay dances until

there will be nothing

left in decay

nothing else holds sway

except the moment of the day

that you endure

in hopes of something pure

a reward for all your

hard work and persistence

 

you waste the moment

for a perception of reality

that requires your abject slavery

and sacrifice for a future slice

of pie that’s been sitting too long

on the windowsill

 

***