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?