As this simulation might as well be a ruse And the only way to truly defy expectations Is to go all out And outright lose
Category: poetry
(Onion) Skinned
I once had a theory
I used to hold as truth
About wounds
That maybe if I bleed
It would help avoid
Suffering a heart attack
It’s nowhere based on fact
Cyclones Every Last Quarter
In some weird dream
Trying hard to recall
She spoke to me sounding
Like a hymn
Or the lull before
A raging big wave
I held on til it fades
No Words, None Hurt
No words
No words
None will get hurt
Sometimes What’s Lost Never Wants to be Found
Not here to instill a habit
More joy in you stumbling upon it
Pulling rabbits
Wide Open Spaces
(Originally written some 19 years ago, I guess I’m still writing it…)
So tired
and sleepless
Hours away
from home
Watching the world
run silent
In bridges that burn
The Drive Back
….Collecting thoughts, however, in a rippling blur Silence has this distinct tone As, once again, you caught yourself alone…
Tend, Then See
We that lie, woolen sheep Attack at night, slowly creep
Another Forced Wake Up
The 60’s music are blaring, celebrating, a captured moment
Of how unaware it was of the 70’s intent…
We are taught, if not nascent, layers of blankets, randomly spread and exhausted from last night’s bout to recharge, the answers soon will be found not by the winners but by the hopeful.
How the Race Found the Finish Line
I don’t know the chemistry of cures. The amount of persuasion the brain needs to swallow it whole. Assimilate to throwing darts in the dark against move the targets. Left to belief, because we all believe it.
Drum up a line. Shuffle this confusion. And find answers in the randomness, draw a convenient conclusion.
And then what? Lose myself from what I supposed to have got. Weave through this lot of have nots. This cycle I writhed in pain.
danDAman 