Stare at blank

in a page, haunting reflection failures

stare back, beaming alike

with gods and machines’

waste piles, shining a headlamp sheen

wherefrom we know not, the sun and our ghosts,

in the screen of yesterday, must be

them that make it bright

with their droning, fliers of warwords

turning the cheeck of disdain, at least two

with deaf dumb cronies

alongside, not knowing that it won’t

make a difference, at all.

 

So what?  As in all pursuits

from effort is progress, there are days spent

over the furnace workshop

dank of sweat, to figure out that

some are good and some are bad

now as ever, but how can you tell

from the faces of the faithful

about what they know

and why, does it grow

like a fetus or flower

like a sickness, so that all eyes point

the same direction, the curious balance

humanity strikes is beautiful.

 

The scheme of things is speckled

with outliers wanting more, discipline and comfort

progress and spirit

love and death, they wear all disguises

though we know who they are

in the daylight, which will someday come

I hope, there is the knowledge

that god is a mean, nothing more

than energy, keeping us in a lane

to the abattoir, I feel a hope

is my spirit preserver, through boons and lulls.

 

The point is everything will happen

as it happens, then it will have happened

again and again, so the important thing

is a scoff denoting flippancy, signaling the end

of a long dark tunnel, finding graffiti

where you can and adding

to it a shining pegasus, imprinting

that feeling of triumph

in your dreams, it’s all in the becoming

who you are, the cool mellow dude

who can spin a story

of the 2016 presidential election, and the horror

or the heaven, and who can (know or) remember?