Thursday, May 11, 2017

lie to me


(no longer will my green sea turn a deeper blue

-the rolling stones)

 

remember the day when we would say

come take my hand and wash away

the colors of my yesterdays

 

but then i learned

touch is impossible

the atoms which make molecular

skin cells all contain

nuclei which will never

make contact with each other

the outer barrier of atoms

press against one another

creating the sensation of touch

your brain misinterprets the data

from your senses because

you don’t know enough information

to correctly discern

 

i want to unlearn

return to a state

where love and hate

are not just desires

to inspire a procreate

to send our genes

down the scene

of an evolutionary timescale

 

when my poetry entailed

a purer need to impale

your quivering flesh

 

where she was my breath

my life and my death

and in the afterglow of sex

i could curl and press

a caress

believing my touch was real

 

now i am just a mammal

who has memorized

a plant’s ability to achieve

photosynthesis

making it far superior to me

the plant can survive without humanity

but humanity can’t survive without a plant

 

and yet

a ladybug has landed on my cigarette

and i can’t light it

because i don’t wish to harm such beauty

 

and wait for it to choose

a different venue

on which to lift its body

and rub its hind legs

 

for humans have created a list on craig

on which such evil has comprised

that even i can’t surmise

that evil spelled backwards is live

 

anger takes and love gives

and maybe c.s. lewis

whose writing i’ve always despised

wasn’t wrong after all

 

but words no longer enthrall

and i can’t recall the poet

who once thought

wolfsheim’s,

“the sparrow and the nightingales”

was the most romantic song of all

the song jenny and i put on replay

the first time we made love

and fell asleep too

 

until all we could do

was marry and create a child

more beautiful

than any photosynthesis

 

i use to think

the dark streets of decay

were beautiful

 

now i’m just a conglomeration

of cold sweats and nightmares

knowing if the true purpose

of an artist

is to define beauty

i conclude the concussion

of why i believe

i serve no purpose at all

 

***

 

 

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