Filling the Empty Places

Always there is within me a great, yawning hole. It clamors to be full. Its seeming emptiness has a Gravity, a means of pulling inwards. While I consciously and faithfully control what and who comes into this gravitational pull, the action exists without this. It's pure fate. In this homage to the Decadent Movement, I bother to cloud the intellectual understanding of the idea with words and engage intuition. In the second part, I obscure something else entirely, but you'll recognize it.

Sometimes as the day unwinds and the trains are flying by

the world seems to sigh

Out of tune and focus with buttons on the road

The people passing by grimace in imagined pain

while i pretend they're young

Watering, my eyes can't see

the just and circumstance

Acknowledging craters in the dirt and stone

These travesties of life invade my very home

where the cricket waits with powder

To soothe the anger

and calm my ruffled feathers

tied and tethered

safely tucked away from the storm

When my tears return

i want nothing less than

to stand out naked in the cold

and feel their eyes beat down on my hairless thighs

while i ponder careful lies

hear the children cry

Be the man to open the monkey's eyes

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When we pull away from midnight pups baying

new moon

Or trample pieces of paper beneath our

collective cloven hooves

Then creation of the idols of man

Can commence!

Within the starry night

I caught sight

Of a lover's fight

Over subjects trite

The man beats the woman and she thinks

he wonders why i smile

Could it be dust mites collaborating

beneath the heat of multiplying couple's union?

A brain drain

Given to soft rain

My friends will never abstain

From the small pains

Hark the triumph of small virtues

Over the cloud covered heads of state

We professed security at

clear headed attempts

Befuddlement

Subsistence assistance

We absolved the poor poacher after cutting off only one of his hands

Brands

Like cool, collected business men

Stealing into our hearts on the coattails of Jesus

Formal resistance fermented