Robert Morpheal
2011-06-12 04:15:57 UTC
080611A
-----------
A small bright piece of ice
in the heat of the midday sun.
It leaves a brief stain of memory
and then that darkness is gone.
A lifetime can go like that,
trapping some distorted reflections.
The face melting away
as it changes expressions.
-------------------------------
080611B
-----------
Wiping it up,
the brain is like a soaked dish rag
used too many times and gone stale.
You catch the smell of synapses burning,
the way electrical circuits smoulder
when they short circuit into overload.
Catch a scent of burning insect flesh
under the magnifying glass,
as wings curl and tiny shells pop open.
Not unlike a cat in the microwave,
but the door won’t open
until the timer runs down and stops.
You scrape yourself off the window,
the way bugs are scraped
off highway traveling windshields.
You ran into something,
never having time to find out what it is.
You burst open and it all slides down.
The really cruel thing
is not being able to find
the sort of cruelty that you could live with.
----------------------------------------------------
080611C
-----------
Having sucked the words out,
leaving the vacuum,
the way a bell jar sits vacant,
something trapped inside
that cannot escape
through the clamped tube.
Eyes staring through the glass
of the goggled face mask,
the way ship wrecks stare
from where they rest on the bottom,
blurred out by stirred up bottom dirt
and swirls of murky water.
It is all about going
with nowhere to go.
Trying not to get shaken loose,
takes up most of the time.
Afraid of ending up suddenly
dropped brutally fast.
There is nothing of any importance
being said by anyone.
A hard baked gathering
of clay figurines,
examined for all the hidden places
where they will crack and break.
That then determines the trajectory
as to how each one will be thrown,
so it shatters against a wall.
The pieces raining down
the way love letters and flower petals
fall into heaps of decomposition..
----------------------------------------
110611D
------------
Another smoking gun,
clouds the horizon.
An entire life can be reduced
down to a black smudge.
The carbon black lightlessness,
of a vast endless void.
It takes millions of years
to make a diamond.
Sometimes longer than that
to find an answer.
----------------------
110611E
------------
It feels as if it has become a derelict planet
left to waiting for the exterminator.
Over run with insect swarms.
Little black dots on statistical tables.
Something that happens
in between pitched battles,
while soldiers reload tired out guns,
battling armies of evil clowns.
Rubbing the sleep from an eye,
entire solar systems seem to tumble away.
Planets exploding around super nova suns
collapsing into casualty wards.
The wounded are bandaged up and sent home.
Their emotions having been cut away,
and the incisions sewn with dark sutures.
They exchange histories on small printed cards.
A heap of discarded tongues
is abandoned in a stainless steel bowl
dripping clotted alphabets
into a thick, deep, pool of words.
There was a stray encrypted message
about wanting to know what it is like
before chancing to die,
but no one understood what it really meant.
The town’s people had gathered in the night,
to burn a large pile of crutches.
They thought that that would rid them
of various types of monsters.
The monster lies on his bed staring at the ceiling,
wondering how to escape solitary confinement
in the prison of his sex,
not having found a beautiful jailer..
There is a profound scientific similarity
between planets and testicles,
feeling the pull of gravity
and remaining somewhere in orbit.
It is all about wanting to shoot something,
As a volley of sperm comes shooting
down the barrel of a penis,
everything is about load, aim, and fire.
He knows the ladies of the night
are dangerous government agents.
They take control of various street corners,
waiting for passing cars to stop.
The street folds completely up
as the bellows of an accordion.
The moan pushed out from a window
following a series of deep breaths.
Needle scars forming long tracks
along the outstretched sidewalk
until they reach a main intersection,
where everything goes underground.
There are posters on the walls
showing the faces of various traitors,
along with the names
of their various publications.
A parade of honking horns goes past,
waving the flags of ruined countries,
The stray asteroid pieces
from where someone took a kick.
-----------------------------------------
-----------
A small bright piece of ice
in the heat of the midday sun.
It leaves a brief stain of memory
and then that darkness is gone.
A lifetime can go like that,
trapping some distorted reflections.
The face melting away
as it changes expressions.
-------------------------------
080611B
-----------
Wiping it up,
the brain is like a soaked dish rag
used too many times and gone stale.
You catch the smell of synapses burning,
the way electrical circuits smoulder
when they short circuit into overload.
Catch a scent of burning insect flesh
under the magnifying glass,
as wings curl and tiny shells pop open.
Not unlike a cat in the microwave,
but the door won’t open
until the timer runs down and stops.
You scrape yourself off the window,
the way bugs are scraped
off highway traveling windshields.
You ran into something,
never having time to find out what it is.
You burst open and it all slides down.
The really cruel thing
is not being able to find
the sort of cruelty that you could live with.
----------------------------------------------------
080611C
-----------
Having sucked the words out,
leaving the vacuum,
the way a bell jar sits vacant,
something trapped inside
that cannot escape
through the clamped tube.
Eyes staring through the glass
of the goggled face mask,
the way ship wrecks stare
from where they rest on the bottom,
blurred out by stirred up bottom dirt
and swirls of murky water.
It is all about going
with nowhere to go.
Trying not to get shaken loose,
takes up most of the time.
Afraid of ending up suddenly
dropped brutally fast.
There is nothing of any importance
being said by anyone.
A hard baked gathering
of clay figurines,
examined for all the hidden places
where they will crack and break.
That then determines the trajectory
as to how each one will be thrown,
so it shatters against a wall.
The pieces raining down
the way love letters and flower petals
fall into heaps of decomposition..
----------------------------------------
110611D
------------
Another smoking gun,
clouds the horizon.
An entire life can be reduced
down to a black smudge.
The carbon black lightlessness,
of a vast endless void.
It takes millions of years
to make a diamond.
Sometimes longer than that
to find an answer.
----------------------
110611E
------------
It feels as if it has become a derelict planet
left to waiting for the exterminator.
Over run with insect swarms.
Little black dots on statistical tables.
Something that happens
in between pitched battles,
while soldiers reload tired out guns,
battling armies of evil clowns.
Rubbing the sleep from an eye,
entire solar systems seem to tumble away.
Planets exploding around super nova suns
collapsing into casualty wards.
The wounded are bandaged up and sent home.
Their emotions having been cut away,
and the incisions sewn with dark sutures.
They exchange histories on small printed cards.
A heap of discarded tongues
is abandoned in a stainless steel bowl
dripping clotted alphabets
into a thick, deep, pool of words.
There was a stray encrypted message
about wanting to know what it is like
before chancing to die,
but no one understood what it really meant.
The town’s people had gathered in the night,
to burn a large pile of crutches.
They thought that that would rid them
of various types of monsters.
The monster lies on his bed staring at the ceiling,
wondering how to escape solitary confinement
in the prison of his sex,
not having found a beautiful jailer..
There is a profound scientific similarity
between planets and testicles,
feeling the pull of gravity
and remaining somewhere in orbit.
It is all about wanting to shoot something,
As a volley of sperm comes shooting
down the barrel of a penis,
everything is about load, aim, and fire.
He knows the ladies of the night
are dangerous government agents.
They take control of various street corners,
waiting for passing cars to stop.
The street folds completely up
as the bellows of an accordion.
The moan pushed out from a window
following a series of deep breaths.
Needle scars forming long tracks
along the outstretched sidewalk
until they reach a main intersection,
where everything goes underground.
There are posters on the walls
showing the faces of various traitors,
along with the names
of their various publications.
A parade of honking horns goes past,
waving the flags of ruined countries,
The stray asteroid pieces
from where someone took a kick.
-----------------------------------------