Friday, December 23, 2016

mmdclxxxv

I have not forgotten
we sound
the same when we say the same things like people of a certain time.  As if
history were not over.
                                                                       —Laura Moriarty


(part two)

“What’s on the list for today?”
like not knowing a thing
about a great uncle as he passes
in the middle of mostly crying

‘family’ holding their hands in
an obvious imperfect circle around 
his death, or how could we ever know
almost any normal event in my life,

(and speaking as a an actor – 
am I working toward a more
earned and reasonable hypothetical 
or is just my take), what is the pose or

the tic or the spirit that alerts the lie?
To anyone listening or paying attention.
How diminished that quality is, no matter 
your existence, no matter the audience.  

Do some find this irrelevant?  Certainly!
I see the hands, I hear the protests.  So 
of course you do, too.  But let’s say I barely
know myself.  What is this path

towards ‘trust’ (that comfortability
we find in certain others/that
comfortability I find by myself? 
Occasionally....)?

Teach me, oh Great Nobody, the
pose that gives the ‘appearance’
of listen, I am being real(!!).  That in
fact(?), perhaps, I am even being myself.

Thursday, December 15, 2016

mmdclxxxiv

I have not forgotten
we sound
the same when we say the same things like people of a certain time.  As if
history were not over.
                                                                       —Laura Moriarty


(part one)

“What’s on the list for today?”
I look back and forth in
terror, searching for anything.
“We’ve got years to get it
done,” I look back and forth

the manner less spastic.  These
last words are balm, a staunch
for the deepest of cuts which
only allow a minute or two of
more life.  A sad fly zips by in

disgust.  If we start with the
premise that every single indi-
vidual lies (quite literally, the
entire embodiment of our spec-
ies depends on it in a way, it

is built into culture, it is written
in Amy Vanderbuilt, the circum-
stances sometimes quite elaborate
and fun; or guilt-inducing).  Be the
person you are, but I prefer ease

and an amalgamation of real 
and fun, I value honest and ...
reality (the former, from my
test runs, most especially) 
but, I'm a liar.  By necessity at
times, using etiquette others.  

At other times, or just because
I’d rather for whatever the
reason, perhaps even out of
spite, quell my truth, or with
which I seem no longer familiar


with it...





Thursday, December 01, 2016

mmdclxxxiii

Whodunnit (the prequel)

intrepid telepathy

makes the murder

tenuous ... grip

all your whines

in the back of

your throat un

til the maid

servant has

cleansed every

single dinner

dish.  Drinks

aplenty come

later.  See to

it you bring

your tongue

to carefully

(and perhaps

a bit cynic

ally) fully

analyze the

poison be

fore tak

ing a dunk

in the

dark pool.


Sunday, November 27, 2016

mmdclxxxii

...is language strangely
         —Laura Moriarty

The ostrich’s hopscotch
was graceful (Ines

timably, thought
the ostrich, who

believed she was
being offered a

scotch.) and my
skin burns as if it’s

afire.  I’m
all too aware

of the numerous
lies within my

heart.  What
I meant by

the weather
was my mood,

emotion.  Emo
ticon, emoticant.

Precipitate.  Rec
iprocate....  

Andy wasn’t hard
up when I hit

rock bottom.
Later that same

weakness – a
few silent frays –

a Miss Oliver point
ed up to where

we were when
we first saw it.

Each of us felt
a chill of a

different
kind.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

mmdclxxxi

“The Dropdown Runs Out to the Right”

Or haven’t you heard?   Logic rules.
It (and its common sense strategies)
bring such a wide smile to the faces
of my friends, the set of which is too
numerous to list; and I’m not just talk
ing acquaintances, no sirree.  But puredee
always-there-for-you-in-the-nick-of-time
-when-you-need-them-most (and without
even having to send out so much as an
S.O.S.) FRIENDS. It’s uncanny, the
certainty of their existence.  I’ve heard
rumors of poor sots who cannot say the
same without a sense of irony – I’m also
told the tone of sarcasm is as obvious as us
believers’ ascent to heaven will ultimately
be (and none too soon, according to my
calculations).  Gosh, I’ve had such omni
present good fortune.  I’m so truly blessed,
to be sure.  Such calamity befalls this poor
earth it breaks your heart.  And then there’s
me and my happiness full of incalculable life.
I’m so ready for it to be over, for the few of
us who belong in paradise to float like tiny
pink balloons on the horizon until we’re 
so out of here.  Alrightee, this conference 
is over now.  Who needs another revival.  
My tummy's grumbly.  And Agnes knows
very well how I get when I’m hungry (In
deed! she hollers from the back porch.  
She's always at the ready.  Indeed!  Let's
go ahead and get this the party started,
shall we?  Yes, let’s . . .

Friday, November 25, 2016

mmdclxxx

PULL UP
NOT OUT
      —a Walgreen’s paper bag

“Who will be
the cause
of my demise?”
whispered om
inously, it
seemed to
me, at least,
the aether
from which
nothing
comes.

“I will.”
said, it seemed
(to me), the
entirety of my
kith and kin,
bowing, pray
ing, I be
lieve, over
my demise.

Friday, November 18, 2016

mmdclxxix

I’m trying
to forget,
but please
allow me
to list for
for you the
top 200
reasons
why you
are more 
cruel than
Cruella 
De Vil.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

mmdclxxviii

Autumn’s Anthem

We are all fallen
with excitement.

“That sounded
big,” one was

heard exhaling.
“Oh, dear that

sounded really
big!”  And so

each of us,
being so

very close
to the heart

of our or 
hearts, the

ones we
perpetually

strum (as they,
occasionally

with a bit
of glee,

harmonically
thrum), stood

in our respective
places and looked

around, each with
a tinge of anxiety,

waiting for the
biggest and the

loudest
collapse.