Something Is On To You

First of the day’s early scarce prediction,
absorbed in the latest criticism,
analyzing a cable from the prior night,
that something is on to you.

A message not straight though it’s clear,
and there isn’t a need for redundancy,
hasty strikes immerse and advise,
that something is on to you.

An abrupt operation with hardly a delay,
shadow a concise distance the entire day,
opens a debacle of wit inflection,
determined now by sheer invention.

Tread to the haunt where lies a tenacity,
of granting a security appointment,
perceptive of an assured following,
that something is on to you.

Smooth Talking Jackals

Coming in your direction,
they receive everyone’s attention,
throughout every path you meet,
whether in a building or on a street.

Observe the warnings from these clowns,
because they ain’t playing around,
they will take us all down with them,
as long as we forget where we came from.

They live wherever you live,
and do whatever you do,
the following is always a straight line,
because nobody makes up their own mind.

Observe the warning from these fools,
because they are making up the rules,
they will have us all fighting for them,
as long as we forget where we came from.

No limit to their imaginative disarming,
or without any language alarming,
and if no one is buying what they say,
they will try to sell it another way.

Observe the warning from these demons,
because they hand out motives without reasons,
they will have us all dying for them,
as long as we forget where we came from.

Dire Loss of Purpose

I would like to say,
that most of what you’ve spoken here is true,
and not just your flagrant opinion,
except I can’t,
since I’m not living from your end,
to be able to correctly make that judgment,
as we too are actually mere strangers.

They simply qualify as pressures of yours,
and they do not have to apply to anyone else,
because not everyone has an equal measure of life,
where one could necessarily idealize a great point,
or meaning to one’s existence,
after all it is just this one life,
as with your own life,
all are sufficiently influenced,
yet we’re still ultimately ruled separately.

I’m not going to know why,
or for how long,
you have thought along these lines,
but I have known and fought with around those same thoughts,
for well over 35 years now,
and I’ve reflected many many times through those years,
exactly about its true justification,
why not end it,
kill myself,
than have to suffer more long bouts of depression.

Sadly, we both house an extremely negative view of life,
and somehow I have also known a lot worse than you,
mine is a major effect after much reasoning and consideration,
as I’ve said,
I wish I could genuinely agree with what you’ve voiced,
less that area concerning your utter insistence about not needing any help,
or even advice,
but I will have to respect your wishes and leave you to your own choosing.

Counter Degrees

Driving long deep in the day,
past all of the yards in a wave,
remembering the blurred tan posts,
in tight haphazard arrangements.
She took everything given now,
and handed back even more.
The projection of counter degrees.

Pressure certainly stays firm,
while the trigger remains at bay,
yet She notices a startling circumstance,
that now can’t possibly be.
Lingering through suggested views,
of where to go and what she’s seen.
The reverence of counter degrees.

Buses seem to narrowly collide,
as the blackness bursts wide,
She couldn’t recall a search,
across this shivering filament.
Why we will openly whisper,
right next to our enemies.
The striking of counter degrees.

Believing the focus is misleading,
as Her cries stop the bleeding,
needless explanations can’t screen,
this correspondence so rare.
Dusty flames disperse supreme,
whether one decides to care.
The confirmation of counter degrees.

Center of the Crowd

Turnabout through a chamber with poised eager hands and smiling faces,
drifting on past as the staged coveted source of their seduction.

Firmly stretch the stripped sheet across the face,
surely diminished, yet also concealed by its history,
by its standards, by its glow.

Echo outlined ramblings of hopes and sentiment without a base or solutions,
treating all to just a show of force, just a sure farce.

Wail armless once again back,
on through influential entangled waves of static rehearsed cursing and reheated emotionless caressing.

Division still reigns soundly and happily,
parading over the violent crayon scuffs,
smashing these newly paper sculpted promises.

One night away for the center of the crowd.

Open for Business

A freshly painted door set between three brick aisles,
nearby trees have grown away and deformed downward,
no one enters amid various passing glances of curiosity,
in front of a large cracked mirror representing a pivotal era.

Talking of plates and spring mattresses,
thinking of coats and baskets,
tinkering with bills, bells, and silver,
formulating new alignments for another sequence.

Eyes search a sky through a stagnant fan,
breath is both heaved and stunted,
bags cross over creases over arches over depressions,
buttons tighten, tempers heighten.

Searching among wrenches and frying pans,
sounding among batteries and panels,
submitting with bills, bells, and silver,
formulating new alignments for yet another sequence.