The Deadening

Memory is the bane of impermanence, and impermanence, the enemy of memory

His salivating eyes dine on the beforeward and afterward, hungry for what was, never was, and shan’t be

Straining against the current, he’s awash with sins of the past, for to take away the pain, would be to suffocate

Survivor’s guilt for this one, who undeservedly exists; while the living embrace the breadth of his present wasted

His bridges adust, trembled under the weightlessness of quotidian, phatic chatter; threatening, promising, a benighted isolation

Thus, overmorrow or what then follows, he awaits the numb of decay and sublime windchimes to perturb his silence

When finally, behindhand, whithersoever he lies, he shall relent

art: (untitled) by Zdzisław Beksiński

Careless rant

To care, about anything; anything
in everything, looking for a reason;
a propensity for nihilism, but without
really caring if there is a purpose;
thinking in circles, corralling the

dragonflies through rings of fire,
writing one down before one of you
expires; anhedonic submission, blank
stares, habitual nods, and smiles
seconds late; forgetting to be there,

in the moment, any moment, appearing
human to stave the questions, to hide
the emptiness; an emptiness without
questions or concerns, acceptance of
the way things are, because it’s the

only way things could be; seeing the
paths, extrapolating their outcomes ad
infinitum, predicting the conclusions;
perverted chess with life and death,
without a king or queen on your side;

a war between willpower and attrition,
with exactly one possible outcome;
why bother looking, they don’t want
broken; two brokens putting their
parts together, begets only suffering;

one broken plus one not, equals two
broken, too broken; offers proffered
and rescinded in a single breath, a rotten
carrot for the ass; buridan’s ass agonizing
between a catch 22 and sophie’s choice;

…can’t even care for a cathartic post

art: Immortal Ephemera : Insecta – Dragonfly by Stephanie Pui-Mun Law

Thin

It’s thin. The paper lying before
him, and the paperweight’s skin
resting upon it; the depth of the
graphite pressed into the albus

page with the apathetic exigency
of have-tos and owe-it-to-thems;
the kerning and strokes of the
languid letters barely scoring its

surface; the flimsy wording and
porous reasoning behind a veil
of half-hearted half-truths; the
syncopated lips in imperceptible

recitation to the mindless thrall;
the slits wherefrom lacteolus orbs
peer thru the erubescent scarring
of fatigue; the breathing of shallow

waves slowly floating to the shores
of expiry, and receding weaker on
return; the connections tethering
him to consciousness and binding

him to corporeality; the pavlovial
response to a delicate tap on the
door by a deserves-better; the guilt
deliquescing in the darkness, and

evanesce of light into absolution

art: by Christophe Hohler