Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Daymare

While it would be nice were it to become so
It’s like it is and won’t be otherwise.  Maybe
All the pining simply avoids that this is all of it,

All the pinnacle to scale-get, what someone else
Somewhere hopes will become of their own
If only and wouldn’t it be great and it’s too bad

While gawking them and their loveliness drool-
Ing for it, because we never seem to get it righted
No matter how many experts we let in the room.

Even the clouds, after bleached days of unbearable
Windless sun-broil, inertia’s deep inhalations
Would be better if only thinner, dispersive

Until the next comet makes deadline.  Night
Skies baring teeth, the sound of propeller blades
As the needle works its way to the red zone,

Are impossible to admire without the proper gear
And a sing-along camaraderie in a back home
Bar, and a friend you can imagine hemorrhaging

His part like the pinging in your ears.  It would all
Be a lot nicer with less noise, more gentle, defensible,
No greedy argument pouncing in the blindness,

No me embedded in the grease between things, no
Fire-breeze bleeding weeds dusted up to remind you
Of another better where it never happens like that.

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