The World of Tomorrow

Days
Turning to weeks of months.
Searching.
No hope.
Frustration piled on frustrations.
As if the world is stacked against me.
I only want connection.
I only want to plug in.
But sunk I have become
and no hope lies in wait to pull me from this desolation.

But lo,
What hap is here?
When all is lost and body crawls as if to the very edge of it?
Herein lies the future of my everything?
Such a small device.
Tease me not
like so many things speaking of a bright answer,
bringing promise of all I desire,
only to dissolve into the ever growing pile of disappointment and shortcomings.
No,
I beg you to be different than those.
Be unto me and mine a savior
and pull me out from this bleak existence.

Yes!
I fear to celebrate to soon, but...
Yes!
It is so!
The world has been brought into my hands.
My freedom made again true.
With such a small thing
of little worth itself.
Yet it is the portal through which all things will be possible.
Never again will my writings be late.
Never again will questions be unanswered.
Never again will thoughts be unspoken.
Nor words left unread.
Liberation!
Sweet
Unadulterated
Connection!

Blackout

In this deserted place
far from the eyes of a crowd
I made my residence.
At first I was so pleased with my situation.
So far from the buzz of humanity.
Far from the heat of closeness
and I did swell with joy at my decided distance.

Then the creeping thoughts.
The slowly building realization
in a dark place behind these eyes.
However happy I am,
far from the physical realm of humanity,
I find myself also at odds
with the connection of the world.

I set myself a goal
to write a poem every day
and post it for the fun of it
but I find the problem inherent
with achieving this goal
if I've no connection to the internet.

I write here in an apology
for slacking on my self made charge.
I will quickly write the three required
to catch me up to my daily totals.

My integrity is damaged.
My fingers unsteady.
I will not relinquish my goal.

Hope lies on the horizon.
The future holds a better option
than steeling connections to achieve the writing plan
that I established for myself.

in the wind

I don't know if I can handle this right now.
The road that I'm tumbling down left me feeling like
less of a man and more like a clown.
The sound barely resounds in my ear
before I am drowning in your frown.
Not much, to be living in the fear of now
but somewhere encrypted in this vision of me
is a place more dead than a long deceased sea.
I only have so much to give.
Only so much to bleed.
It seemed too deliberate when you adjusted your crown.
All sounds indicate a cacophony of absence
and the lab sent results reminiscent of past unabashedness.
But blasting past this indiscretion at last
I take to the task of carrying the casket
containing what remains of my intentions
rendered lifeless by misuse and laziness.
The hole will never be dug for it to lay rest in
but upon these shoulders it will stay.
The weight of things that never will be
constantly reminding me
until the box is mine and the shoulders beneath it are yours.

The Plug

I am not oblivious to it
to my weakness
my inability to keep schedule

I am driving this skin machine after all
a responsible operator of any machine
would be fully aware of what the vehicle is doing
life is no different

pulling levers and turning wheels
no excuse for neglecting views
no reason to be unaware of what you do

sadness can creep
wash over all of this
pull you to the bottom
but just remember what emotions really are

just the warning light on the dashboard
that the more experienced driver
has learned to ignore

Woking

I had something...
an idea that...?
something...
well,
shit.
I wish this were the first time.
I wish it was an irregular occurrence,
but the reality is that this is my normal.
whether from drug use
bad genetics
eating food from aluminum cans
the reason is irrelevant.
Cause here I am scratching my head again
as another ground breaking thought slips back into the ether.
At times I hope collective mind is a real thing.
At times I hope that a lot of the stuff that I know to be bogus
isn't.
Because then, there may be someone, somewhere
who will get my lost thought.
It will find in them a home it deserves
and be allowed to grow into fruition.
But who then lost the ideas that I treat like my own?
And is there a place where ideas, too oft neglected,
go to retire and absorb the knowledge that they are not needed.
where do they come from?
where did they go?
....
Oh yeah!
We need to buy more grapes when we go shopping.

Till Tomorrow

But, this is Texas...?
the wind is crisp yet yielding
the snow is falling at an angle
it seems almost horizontal from here
some sort of singularity appears near this confusion.
"Crazy, but not stupid"
been accused of truer things
and less
the turn comes before your breath reaches the window
after the slow blink of seduction
and all of it waiting for the brakes to come
30 today
85 tomorrow
10 in the shade if the morning breaks clean
but the stuff of stories would blush at my life

only a little

The years have been kind to you.
Not in the same way for me,
but you look good.
Time is running down these cheeks
fermenting the fruit
full past wine state
and don't count on anyone encouraging you to embrace the decay
the money is in hiding what our bodies do in time.
Lie to ourselves first
and there the lie finds it's most reliable home
because they know the truth on the outside.
Even though the machine says you look young
it is in it's interest to pretend so
since the machine sold you the product that makes you
"Look Younger"
But to the sapient the truth is clear.
Our eyes can see where the foundation ends and your crumbling supports start.
We all see the clown at the cash register
yet we treat it like a human.
Treat it as if a mind is back in there.
We can see that it cares more about the appearance of things
than the structure of reality,
yet we treat it like human.
We can tell it has no concept of humanity
of the sapient nature
or, at least
if they do see such a thing the only tactic?
To tuck tail and run,
smiling into the night,
far from the truth of things.
The truth of you.
The truth of time and our faces.
So,
Yes.
I am doing well,
thank you for asking.
And,
No.
I am not going to ask how you are doing
because,
I know you only asked me so I would ask you.  And
to be honest,
I don't care about your life.
To be honest you probably care less about me than I care about you,
but you care more that you appear to care
than you care about reality and being honest with it.
But,
after all
I am just a sapiens,
waiting in line for my piece of the food
and you are just a clown
pretending to be beautiful and happy.

Bleak

Bitter
Sweeping sadly across my plains.
Seeping over the depths till the realization
permeated.
Abandoned.
Blinking slow in the blind low.
temperature drops by the second
while the truth bathes me
"What do you mean,'No connectivity'?"

dullards die

Mad marking made moving multiplied
sad sharking saves stupid sulking skies
plaid parking paid, proved in pulpy pies
fads far than fade fruit bin folding, FIE!
bland bark en-bade bovine bullet time
ad's arcing ape aloof in aubergine
clad in chart-king's cape a cloven cult of eyes
had harkened hate, hoof wins hoping high
jab jarred sin's jake is jonesing jolted jives
dad darkening days by doing "dullard dies"

cold

Far flung are the first falling
trailing to find
first place lands the blind
but who answers the calling

when the wind is last wrung
for the bell absent tolling
all things you will roll in
ends wither you've sung

Despite all of my clinging to
something long past
if you ask us to fast
not one will succumb to you

but the falling is fast
in the tall climbs of winter
if the light be not hindered
with the shine of the past

for a few feet of something
when the world wipes your face
the opponent takes pace
with the end of your nothing

What this is all about anyway?

The driving force behind my best intention,
encapsulated on this social site
an attempt to lengthen lyrical invention
with an update on this page for every night.

Most times the poems here will be un practiced.
I will allow the words to flow from mind to type.
My purpose not to make the most impressive,
merely as a way to strengthen writings might.

If reading this you find the course to visit
on multiple occasions please be kind.
For this will mostly be
a simple workout just for me,
and consist of random droppings from my mind.

Though structure and my comfort may be lacking
with time I hope improvement of my skill
each day a new post (absent of my slacking)
a new poem every day (if I've the will)

Inclosing: just a human qualifier,
because hubris brings the bending of all knees.
As lame as this may be
somewhere to start, I had a need.
As a way for goals to grow
it helps to set the bar this low.
Maybe time will show some betterment in me.