A Lamp-Post Into The Void

I had a lamp-post in my front yard, once
But after a long-winded corrosion of the Bass
The foundation fell strictly to Sopranos
Who only knew the art of disposal
Thus when a lamp-post falls
In the middle of the yard
With no one around to hear
It seems only befitting to treat the moment
with silence,
wrap it in a rug
and throw it in the back of a truck
to God knows where

(Oh well, at least they left a bushel of flowers to cover up any severed strings)

A Man From Nothing with the intent of Nonsense
Disconnects meaning from perception,
Snap synapse his fingers whose purpose, only the Absurd
Like a train without tracks; a derelict on baron land
Unable to birth canals connecting
Womb to this Man
Hume to this Animal
‘To This Pencil, Nothing Is An Argument!’
So what if it were made in the image of Meursault
Who could live within the object itself?
Scotts guard the heartless from the stains of ‘Sentiment’
Awaiting his trial he wonders,
‘What’s the point of being objective,
               when we personify till the day we die
                                   with this light shining in our eye’

So when snuffed out, there’ll be no doubt
Too oft’ to look for things about
As light ascends, forget the bends
The frame contains no mortal sins
Little Boy, Little Boy, Shine Your Light
Shine on the trees, shine on the night
Don’t be afraid if one won’t reflect
For one is an object, the other, concept

06/09/14