Insignificance

I ripped the candy wrapper,

Did you hear the news?

I ripped the candy wrapper.

I do not remember ripping it,

it must have happened beyond my consciousness

but I ripped it.

I broke it, I tore it, I killed it.

In some way parallel to how I handle relationships.

I ruin, and wreck, and never even intend to or notice.

So then I become apathetic to it, I don’t even feel sadness.

I blame it on:

the season,

My drinking,

my sadness,

and I find a new tv show,

or another person to distract me.

Because in reality I am sad,

I feel remorse and yet did I truly ruin it,

or did they just leave?

I convince myself that it is the latter, that way I did nothing,

I can’t fix it, and it is insignificant.

I stare instead at some image

and forget.

 

 

 

The Instant Love; a formula

The liquid dripped, it dripped in an instant

falling from the inside of my crevice

to the leg which sustains me.

It’s almost funny to think

that every experience

that is had

is only perceived to be real

by the sensory organs in the body

and so eventually it all fades.

I keep wondering often

about the illusion of feelings

and whether I will ever

fall so deeply that I won’t rise alone.

Instead leaping up to move

from point a to point d

the point of not being a singular

but of trusting enough to be a second

and yet a first.

humanity has redirected the desire

for stimulation and pleasure

and instead made themselves vaguely aware

of the death instinct,

living moments as though the immediate does not matter.

I looked at the dripping liquid,

it dried on my leg instantaneously

That’s the magic of the male orgasm,

it flows out, hits something and then is over

in many ways the same way as being with someone who

can’t be forever.

They appear, hit you, make you feel

and then leave as though

you could simply wipe off feelings.

Observations in my travels: Medellin Colombia

For what cannot be bought, there is feeling

at times the feeling of leaving the body

to touch the vulnerable fragment of iridescence

At times the feeling of incompetent

frustration,

a longing for the person

who will leave the body and meet the soul

in a dance of joy in suffering.

The soul rips apart and the body screams

the face reacts by red patches of uglyness

as the vesicles release fluid in the form

of floating perspiration.

I touched the urine on her skin

but only the coins felt her longing.

I cannot recall the face but I remember

the need , a need for the coin,

the gesture of the cross.

The priest, he said

that we are pilgrims, bodies made of dust,

the journey is centered towards…

the beans, the sustenance of flatulence.

the error grave, as I gazed at the artform and forgot to see

the hidden people that color the environment

with the reality of the result of self gain and free market,

I gave a coin, the priest a nice word, but the grass gave nothing,

it could not give beans,

the beans belonged to a market of some form,

which turned every touch into a debt,

the grave , a cost,

the birth, a cost,

the diploma, a cost,

the lips releasing a heavy smell

the rotting of the wood,

the explosion of the candle

which refuses to light without whim.

the lord will only listen by the donation,

a donation to light the candle,

a small remnant, a reminder of the debt

that christ left.

debt is but submission towards a power,

she released rain, sitting on the side of the street

drinking Coca Cola

a woman of no means, with the coin,

the power of the cross

which portrays the debt of one person towards another,

a debt which immediately fades, once the coin is released,

the kiss of life forgotten, the dance a facade,

no home for he who only has a coin.