Saturday, July 20, 2013

In Hindsight I Cease to Fight

The great expanse you left between us is nothing but your love.
And between the rocky outcrops where men lie in wait to defend the mountaintop fortress high above the city.
Turrets where radical elements spin winter tales about how the men stood tall and went out to fight for their families and for themselves, in plunder.
Wives and children silently, soberly, sit awake missing young men not as young anymore but spent: their integrity sound despite anger brewed by misapprehension and fear.
Power is nothing but lust incarnate and these are husbands not lovers who have no word for sin.
Children rise with bleary eyes...for they couldn't outrun the sandman on such a strict bedtime schedule.

Faked you out, compromised my name, while you bluffed to yourself while I stood and watched.
I showed you what I intended, logic told you no, until you got the courage to try my creation for yourself and the entanglement is true.
We ducked and feinted, nevertheless in time, mercurial lakes can shatter and/or split.
If you tread thin ice either steel yourself for a watery descent or move faster than the faults.
Rush as fast as you can, sliding into position, like a runner going for the base.
In Odysseus' story he could never find peace, since his nemeses derailed him from his home, never left in peace to reside.

Ego-driven Western world, the east is built on traditional expectations and what's inside of us.
In contempt for all blind, dumb, pariahs who sing for shekels, disabled partners, deaf, and lovesick kindred we're ignoring lessons.
Simply put he taught me to be the victim of myself, so God could come knocking and teach me in case.
Hopeless lost child I went down the wrong path, but came back armed for any impasse.
The skeleton writer clacks at his keys looking for signs of the girl and the path that she took, trying to follow, to know, or to grasp her design, which she wove from disappointments sudden but fair at the time.

A story's mighty character is bound by truth visualized.
By my maker in a copse of hard wood encircled by colorful thread.
He glanced at us in good humor, despite all the fuss, because his agenda is senior to both of our attended to plans: endings to endings we lived our dark sides out.
I traded useless foam and formica for a better raft minus the patch.
When I searched the glittering shore I found many weapons and saw dead burial ground.
But sand is like salt as ale is to brine complete reversal in time.

And in the space I made for myself I intoned to Libra "balance the scales."
Read smoke signals made from tinder and flint, I absquatulate the island reserved for no one, quick I run the sails, yet sorry I lost the current, found myself one of nine ships tasked to conceal our direction by separate courses at random.
I asked Homer to give me a clue and he stated the obvious.
Give your audience what they want when they want it and never when they do not.
Minerva listened to Telemachus since what he said made sense despite his uncertain position as a potential heir to Odysseus, which raises legitimate paternal question marks in many places.

Last night I opted out, while you primed yourself to lose ground, I asked and now I'm given--double entendre micromanaged, silent and impatient for the spikes interrelated, piquing high stakes security surveillance, the cameras run on blood.
Reptiles are cold, not patient, sluggish and slow they rely on outside sources of heat for pleasure.
Jagged shooting light syncopated to the rhythm of some other aspect I relied on, a quivering in my chest as I watch the death rattle suggest an that an octopoly is eight parts, for polyamorous hearts.
I took a headcount and we're unequivocally missing one persona non grata I could guess it'd be due to obstacle courses where you can't afford to trip unless it's to fall below the bullet raking the air, impunity by seconds faster than you could devise a worthy thought.
And the sum isn't equal, total only in part, the listing ship weathers vibrant hurricane.
Stowaway caught by a live rope on the ship, heaved her overboard, but the crew gave no notice and resounding facts without invitation or indentured servitude nothing saves uselessness and despondency embraced.

Luck gave her chase and though lost in unfamiliar place out of reach, she crested the waves, and breached to lungs burning in relief.
Finding her body stricken with ghastly morbidity without the usual helping hands, lost at nature's devilish foil, her approach to dignify a structure that binds her like a crutch standing you up beyond your clout.
Some stranger in a dinghy comes close to hear sodden cries, lacerations made by fibrous rope, initially meant to tie to lifesaving device impaired her judgement and brought her in with another crew.
These tactics don't teach us more than we already know.
For useful beginnings garner a place earned in history by lessons entirely free for the giver and without a tangible key.
Despite all the racket over mistaken bread, I am charging the lines provincial matter like thought cerebellum instead.

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