sentences
swirl
an
army of procreation
in
an apartment in paris
with
a bathtub coffin
was
a hand written page
of
morrison’s last poem
the
final line
“last
words, last words out”
do
the dead care that we mourn?
are
there ghosts gathering sentiment?
angels
that weep with sorrow and joy?
or
just a universe that deploys
evolutionary
life forms
that
swarm habitable planets
on
this granite
we
have always partaken in commerce
the
glue of pinnacle civilizations
making
me wonder if evolution
is
synonymous with advancement
or
just the same old same old
story
told
with
each generation knowing
sturdier
structures
which
are ruptured by wars
natural
catastrophes
the
name of progress
or
frayed by the dissidence of decay
when
the moon is a sliver
hiding
the rest in a quiver
those
outside shiver
while
some kneel bedside to pray
some
in taverns play
either
way
we
contain
a
construct within our consciousness
that
engrains
a
harvest that is a reason
for
the stars
cars
bars
all
those pennies in a jar
that
will never be rolled
i
have not looked under every bridge
so
i do not know
if
under one there is a troll
like
we were told
in
fairy tales
meant
to curtail
adventurous
behavior
i
weary of the flavor of words
enacted
as saviors
meant
to stem the tide
of
what’s inside
better
to hide
and
deride who we are
a
collection of scars
from
words that cut deep
some
leaving wounds
that
will never heal
we
daily reveal
these
festering sores
in
a personality
unique
to you and me
behaviors
others disdain
injecting
the veins
with
a profane
that
disrupts the
healthy
flow of
your
corpuscle purpose
in
the constituents of commerce
you
will be measured
by
what you treasure
on
your day of leisure
justified
by being like the other guy
who
can only enjoy the sunshine
in
a vehicle whose cost
could
feed a family for fifteen years
because
with the press of a button
the
top can come down
i
drown within the sound
of
all that is around
while
sifting through
my
own silences
and
the field i am forced to seed
and
battle the weeds
because,
come the season,
everyone
must harvest
and
reap what we have sown
as
we venture into the unknown
we
cannot return to the before
let
others know what is in store
an
eternity of listening to the dead snore
or
preening the wings of angels
***
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