Roll Call of the Lesser Devils 129-131

129.
I will walk you home tonight
away from alleys refuse littered,
It wasn't gold, it barely glittered,
You wanted friendship and got remorse,
Wanted a marriage and got divorced,
Fading sunshine barely lighting
Broken dreams, and painful tidings
Hollow laughter once again finds me,
With hooks and lines and sinker binds me
Flopping in the suffocating air
I wondered why your love said buyer beware
always, and I wonder still
why does the reverb vibrate until
all that is said becomes “good-bye?"
From where does the sad sound originate?
Her laughter was mocking, I wanted to die
See nothing but still hallucinate
All wrong intentions are paid in kind
So I wondered if my own humor
was something she'd find, a long time after,
Like a sunburn or worse, a malignant tumor
And in looking back see the vengeance attained.
Had the sad sound sounded
The same
Way to her at last,
Were all my empty fears unfounded
Could our private tryst have been more hounded
in the watchful jealous public eye
By scoffing at our innocent kiss
The experience that we truly missed?
This, then, is likely a true farewell.
My petty thoughts slew our love
Nothing's well
Repeatedly as always I destroy
My own ambitions.
‘Tis a pity the shy boy is so coy
These words
These endless revisions.
It could have been fun
If only we'd made better decisions.




130.
In the interest of perfection
The self study in the mirror,
Such an excuse
For the boastful angel;
Vanity couldn't be much clearer
In time the face in the glass
Will be nothing if not conviction
The glances come stares
The scorching piece flesh
The intent behind all sultry selfishness,
Social duties, derelictions
Desire is rarely a work of fiction,
But if you don't want
Get along, get away
The smell so strong
The hunger clawing to find a way out
The blood in the corners of your mouth
You pout
Yet snub the living gift I bring
Writhing and struggling,
An old and gristly human being,
Falsely blame, I'll take the brunt
It's just a child's game, just for play,
Though the one who writes this, living inside out,
Never gets enough of the pain,
Hurts his body just to feel the hurt,
And doesn't get why they call it insane.




131.
The photo had faded at last
Into completely gone away
gone the scent of new discovery
welcome, at least
the short
bitter-sweet release of my own final day
the opposite of the one that has birth
yes tomorrow and tomorrow
certainty of both gimmickry and laughter
the rain will come to my garden
I will harvest later
and watch more grow
then harvest merely a single picture
keeping in mind the importance of a large gene pool
every plucked image
found hanging in the bathroom
from a poorly tied noose
really more of a slipknot
tied three times
tell me something with suicide rhymes
brings the population closer to extinction
the end was sung
before the game began
none of us have any chance
without accepting the truth
welcome, we three aren’t enemies
it's from another place hand scratching
not itches but benedictine sins and saplings
another inside plant good joke
tape recorder winding and audio spills forth
the informant is grabbing it off the floor
it unspools into small piles of black
magnetic plastic rendering audio
bio empty nothing logical
what could be seen was tucked back inside the guts
behind the shirt, the face of wax
share the time and wealth and know
when one rose comes to you
future vanish
run, boy, go