Quick preface: I'm having severe nerve problems in my right hand from pinched nerves in my right shoulder. I can't feel my hand, and so I'm not writing anything new right now. That helps my poetry restoration project, but doesn't take care of my desire to write. Such is life...
Advocate of implied insanity,
A Factory of covered truth.
The world's judges struggle blindly
To bind the psychic aloof,
The just are the just
In the water of someone's self
The judges are like syphilis
The organs no good anymore,
Of state but no, not stately
Common, vulgar and perfectly low,
The disconcerted attrition
Defies quick witted description
A war on drugs? What for?
So ad absurdum in an infinite way
Legal mistakes the worst kind to make,
Effective as of now:
They never happened,
I hid them all yesterday.
Is this a collapse of the happy state,
A dissolution of harmony?
Ask me again in an hour,
When I've forgotten the hegemony.
A Little Vengeance
Run up the alley,
Return the lie to the location of purchase,
Sly, run along,
Later turn key words
As a key witness
Nicks his finger on a pottery shard,
It's gonna be tough on the yard.
The truth floats
Skimming over the waves.
The projector stops;
The end comes.
Another page in the decade of imponderance,
Declareth the end
In trite triumph through quiet decay,
Trists but markings for the story
Full of the simplicity of animal grandeur.
The emotion is resonant,
Dashing the participants into blasphemy,
Ashes and pennies,
But of the spirit,
None for me thanks.
Throughout the decade of the sun
Hop on this, they say,
Hop on this for frantic mingling.
No fast one, they say,
Who the hell are they anyway?
Why can’t I hear
What people are saying?
Do they call out with guttural exhalations,
Or laugh, or over time quietly intimate?
Only a kind mind can recognize
The vow that has turned traitors away,
That, to never utter a single sound;
Others will see only a dangerous game.
Confounds the want.
Testimony will not be heard.
Of words also nothing should be said
Unless with a kind voice, never disturbing
The glassy serenity of social surfaces.
The thoughts of the silent
Are like tiny fish
Darting around above the floor
Of a shallow crystal bay.
Every bubble contains a person,
Every ripple a divine truth.
What use for them when vision holds on,
When beauty can be seen
Under bright lights or without.
It is easy to see impurities
In the character that carries tales.
Some men seek to trap with their sentences,
Sentences for convictions
of Greed or Violence
When fighting peacefully
Along political lines, in political times.
Some men rather than walk away
Seek to prey on innocents,
Scapegoating for their own
Violent men see nothing but
Night and day.
The secret to vision here?
My voice said nothing.