There is nothing recent
about the decline
It has been on course
ever since the first atom
burst in the universe
The cold will expand
(more) to the borders of imagination
like the nothing
that is all that will be left
fragments floating in oblivion
frozen elements of
Facsimile's of filaceous
Recently, she declined the offer, but smiled and thanked the boy, just a boy really, and she was flattered entirely. His hair did a little flippy thing, naturally, like it hadn't, like him, realized what a tough and serious place this world was. His smile, that boyish smile, while(more) cute, was an extension of this idea, that the wind was made of angel breath and every day was just some spiritual coming waiting to happen. She just couldn't deal with that. He was full of himself too, and that could only be attributed to his lack of worldly experience, and maybe that was partly a reason to let him down so abruptly, in order that he know, in order that his ego deflated a few inches, that head shrinking, his faith in that personal god a little tarnished. To float through life was his expectation, as if others did the same, as if there weren't an Africa, or AIDS, or the Westboro Baptist church, or fundamentalism as a whole. As if religion were really there to uphold the spirit, just like the government was only there in order to deliver your mail, repair potholes and police your streets. It was all so fallacious and young, idiotic, bold, annoying. This little hopeful and arrogant kid, asking around for soft hands, bodies for sex, eyes to meet while walking some mystical beach. She swallowed and went home, and that is where she is now, thinking, bathing, the steam coming up around her face, the rain beating rhythm down the ventilation, her head all mixed up in dream, jealous of his thoughtless idealism, his forward thrust, the energetic restlessness of youth, so different from that restlessness that comes with age.(less)
Recent decline is mine,for the recent still in mind.
The longer I'm quiet,the less I will speak.
No longer making sense in it, losing the things that make him him.Retreating from life to hide in dream only recently not wanted/needed there.Increasingly barren with violent spurts of color(more) an comfort.Waking naked an cold he looks for his smokes,disappointed in his absence from reality he puts his pants on one leg at a time.Under his breathe profanity drivin from his wake.walking to his window to gaze at the road,slowly feeling sorry for his profanity an hasty remarks toward nothing in particular,remembering his dream and the horror of his discovery he puffs his last drag only to light another.stepping outside he has a new feel for the day...Then he falls down some stairs.(less)
Having kids is like tearing yourself open and taking out your heart as it beats, your guts as they filter and push and breathe, then stepping your muscled skeleton out of your skin.
Maybe some other things are like this. I don't know.
Your raw muscles with nerves flaring toss the heart which still beats the blood through your body (this part is magic), your guts which still push and breathe, your skin rumpled and saggy -- your muscles your very own hands toss these out as far as they can.
You can't reach that stuff now. Not really.
Your most precious tender things are out there, under the hot sun glistening and looking beautiful when the crows land.
And did I mention you've stepped in concrete? The kind that gets hard quick (this was all voluntary). You can bend over and lay prostrate on the ground, you can stretch and beg. In short, you can pray.
The grass turned a yellow shade. One that drew an emotion I couldn't quite place. It was easier that way.
In the long run.
Everything was burning and it wasn't even springtime yet. In the heat of the night is when the rest started to crumble. The(more) nights infused with whiskey and particular aromas trees gave off. They could make one blush in the right company.
In addition to everything burning down, shit can drown. I couldn't even keep the bamboo alive and you actually have to try and kill that stuff. Too much of a good thing and cantos from Dante's Inferno ring loudly in my ears.
I killed the rat, too. But that was a total mistake. You looked me in the eyes and said, "I'm sure she's living a good life out in the open."
The vermin bait and natural habitat outside APT 4 didn't leave much hope to gnaw on when a mere lab rat was up against a God that was slowly taking meaningful things away from me.
But that's for the melodramas. When you can't see the forest from the trees is when you start to realize that you're in it to win it. I would conquer this with enough tact and class as I could muster. I scraped for it from the floors.
I created another 10-step cocktail and handed it to some faceless fuck across the bartop and realized that I thought of too many things in 45 seconds and waited anxiously until my electronic punch card held my future.
The future that so effortlessly turned into the present by the morning.(less)
an imperfect ascent toward the light
allowed the opportunity
to look back
down the slope
(more) delight! in the view below
all that lingers
with fresh surprise and promise
spurs a u-turn
a fantastic spill
like jack and jill
who fell from grace
in their dizzying log roll
over the bank
and down down down
through fresh mown grass
toward the sea
release! and thrill
in this new breath
give in to the steep grade
no emergency turn off
no matter what peaks were lost
relief! in this free fall
almost like flying
the soft landing
like a true wish
and flutter with purpose
owe no more
true beauty resides in the lowlands of expectation
rejoice! in being grounded
in this recent decline