The False Poem Has Risen, (with many others)

 


The brush combed hair.
(The polished bald "spot").

All
recognition in slip'ry
                                proportion
to the misunderstood intentions.
This may not          Make Sense
now
                nor in some wasted future,
but           who's bothering wit listening?

Just an exercise in seeing what happens
when things (happenings) happen.
(At this late stage, it would seem
                     I've been fairly hapless
           wit    time ,  money,   opportunity,
      and now, death ).

A'lone is a very lonely place to be when there's
no choice other than a swollen, adipose heart
and                   memories
                                           of a child gone for death.

Damn, it hangs so heavy.
                                   So long ago, such brief life.
                            So quickly spent.

Here, wanting I could re-join the ranks of the
"Shit, I'm glad that I'm no part of that parade"

Does
this Life have meaning?  We act so smart as if of course
                                                                  It does.     But
perhaps the phantasmagoria
                                                   has duped this human mind/soul
                     with so much of them lantern lit ghosts,
that anything will never be seen.


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2019dkzkdankozak-------------------poom----pixtur--------