always this daunting feeling
one step ahead of being found out
ages and ages of fear sinking in
wounds bleeding inward
flooding the heart and the mind
thoughts lost in the undertow
pulled away into some parallel oblivion
i sense it's all coming down soon
nerves frayed and burning
my presence ever fading
the phone rings with its persistent nonsensical demands and/or thinly veiled threats:
collection agencies,
old friends
suicidal and surrendered,
cruise giveaways,
sbc
ladwp
aol
irs
fbi
etc. . .
always something to get away from
always something else to forget
caught in the crossfire
of fate and failure
mining the war-torn landscape of the psyche
for anything to anchor
this forever driftingsoul.
the archetype of default (pt.1)
thoughts trickle down
intelligence by association
understanding that
interest is more important
than truth
each by their own
interpretation
drawn together
by circumstance
yet far removed
from one another's
equations
from generation
to generation
the fascination
with dissecting and
hypothesizing on
the schemes and
motives of the human mind
never ceases to bring about
the personal revolutions
necessary to comprehend
the next logical step.
amidst the twisted wreckage of a world gone off the rails...
bolting upright
facefirst into
the brick wall
of a new day
the sunlight blocked by heavy curtains
the room in darkness
as the routine repeats
reluctantly up and out
down the streets
eyes on the ground
from somewhere
to somewhere else
to pass the killing time
to pay the bills(barely)
to re-affirm my misanthropic tendencies
to work and return
to dismantle this full circle
of bullshit and hubris
behind these curtains
between these walls
trying to occupy
an empty and irrational
space
with smoke
and mirrors
with harsh
and fond memories
that hardly need to be bent
into fiction
bursting out
like diabolical laughter
like old haunts
stripped of mere physicality
only to be mentally immortalized
in the afterlife of remembrance
every goddamned day
another roundanother shot
another waste
of mind and matter
dreams full of sorrow
and mornings
in mourning
for the life left
in sleep
as i sit here
staring down the bottleneck
of another chain of unwarranted events,
its hard not to feel for everyone i see
but a certain indifference
needs to be cultivated
in order to endure the madness
of these unprecedented times
that have been thrust upon us.
"all the payphones are off the hook"
a grayhaired homeless women
with a hard yellow smile
said this to me
as i was walking
down hollywood blvd
early one morning
on my way to work
i looked up and down the street
and indeed, she was correct
"good job" i said
"oh noo, it wasn't me but i know why and i know who."
"that's a lot more than most" i said, "including me."
her smile twisted,
her eyes narrowed,
"goddamn right" she grumbled, "you don't know shit about shit,
sonnyboy"
and i looked up and down the street once more,
then at my reflection in a store-front window,
and decided
she was
again,
indeed
correct.
long haul
to die from this hell
would be too easy, too obvious. . .
too good to be true. . .
therefore,
another lie
in the kingdom of lies
a fictional history
to portray and endlessly revise
all authors of our own destiny
the persistent urgency of honesty
is ignored for the greater good
for the root of all evil
is no match for the
infinitely diabolical seeds
humanity has sown.
rift
time running too low to kill
patience failing
conscience in mutiny
the constant struggle
between now and then
the soul torn down
and reconstructed
for lack of a better
solution
ripped from one moment
thrown to the next
no downtime but the sleep that never comes
i stare at the ceiling, the walls, the windows,
the empty bottles across the dirty carpet
there is nothing to wonder about,
nothing to know
but the distance
and the difference
between what is left
and what is already
gone for good.
Poems © 2004 Edward L. Canavan, all rights reserved
