I Prefer Not To.
to have arrived
is to die
I have since
surrounded myself
with cut-out cardboard
reconfigured with no particular preference
staples and tape
to ward off the hatred
a color completely devoid
of vindictiveness
the windowless model is quite suitable
for I have not the time
to look up
and ahead
I am far too caught-up
in this whole “being dead” thing
oh, what a dreadful façade
[image credit: Jan Toorop]
the abstract tapestry of thought and emotion
sifting through memories
persisting beyond the toll of midnight
a surreality poignance fraught
amidst your fabled absence
through context into lucid light
those wayward flecks take flight
seeing now
the urgency defining bated breath
hindsight is a bird unbounded
heaven’s haste begets unheeding
by the merit of its taste
left on the tongue in lingering
how is it that voices lacking tangible disclosure
visibly vociferate through vales
our verities unseen
only to be vetted in the aftermath
of fate’s denouement
moments later, vested virtues
forsaken anew
by the nighest conscious duress
of my conscience’s affording
i will honor your bestowing
in the bastion of my breast
pray not let these pointed lessons fall
when life resumes its pique
[image credit: Edouard Goerg]
and it was today
not knowing its meaning
not knowing why
i know that i love you.
that nothing remains
in this nomad’s world
for hands to behold
but the fleeting whispers
through eyes spent
desiccant.
i watch
immured in solitude
when laymen’s hours prohibit
with all they dared to disregard.
i struggle to make out a face
its features framed of faint obscure
ne’er could i mistake
that feeling
the comfort of your company
forever, it resides within me.
with naught but useless
power of flesh
i flounder in this hopeless muster
holding onto dust
the taste of rust upon my quivered lip
all that i do humbly ask
would you now hear this utterance
“just one simple sentiment, i miss you.”.
through these memories, i bleed
into somatic nights of static
’til our stars again align
go now
ravage every sky
that stings with freedom
whence sought of your heart’s requite
[image credit: Sadanobu Hasegawa IV]
to awaken
into death
is the dream
none dare brandish
listless, heavy-lidded
landslide
in somnolous languor
beholden to the mercy
of a cursed blink
and the blinding
of our blackest truth
laid out
to die
before us
[image credit: Francisco de Goya]
politics are a deplorable pastime
comprised of deceit, propaganda, and tyranny
bands of backhanded obsequious sycophants
falsely commanding our homelands through villainy
such disingenuousness is repugnant
a word i purloined from a Garbage Pail Kid
that those so disgraceful could be so indignant
in light of the scandalous things that they did
and they did, you better believe that shit’s true
and like pawns we allow it through cognitive bias
it sickens me to imagine me and you
enabling all these notorious liars
but they are proactive in their preparation
by keeping the public sect preoccupied
with such utterly insignificant refuse
which fools are so feverishly wont to abide
the power they brandish is born of the weakness
that people succumb to which works without fail
beholden to spurious trappings of ego
nefarious plots regularly prevail
meanwhile, as poverty levels are peaking
privileged white men mendaciously collude
sheepishly ploying whilst safely partitioned
the subjects of their subjugation, subdued
with media pandering disinformation
to desperate masses as malleable as clay
susceptible to psychological swaying
while of the impression they have any say!
and then there are those of religious-borne zealotry
doggedly-obstinate, self-righteous drones
so all-consumed by their fervid delusions
they willfully wreak what cannot be atoned
supinely supplying their supplicant services
ready to die in the name of their god
devoted to repopulating the planet
by heedlessly spreading their seed’s bane abroad
religion and politics closely relate
in that they both facilitate social disparity
granting the breadth of wealth, knowledge, and power
to less than one fucking percent of humanity!
if such things sit well with you, be on your way
for i haven’t the time to expend on futility
i won’t commit to conferring with crusaders
hell-bent on exacting hell-borne realities
[image credit: Unknown]
if you
kill me now
i won’t complain
i will not make a sound
i cross my heart
and hope to die
if only
in your arms
[image credit: Harry Clarke]
i thought about writing
a suicide note
what it will say
if anything
to whom it will be addressed
if anyone
what each person will think
if anything
most people
will never find out
alas
there is no cause for alarm
we are here
we are gone
i have no wish
to see the sun
i know what role this life permits me
only in death
is freedom found
i do not need to be remembered
to be free
. . .
i love you.
i love you like a dying star
loves a midnight sky
through eyes of innocence
the wrath of time’s restraint
it paints the moon
as i lay silent
casting off abandoned scars
and erstwhile sentiments unsung
in shadows of our truths untold
let me not spiral
into such hollow affectations
of this entropy transposed
so grave is its disparity
in remnants
left behind
written on walls
in exile unseen
surrendered
to the aftermath
unknown
with nothing
left
to say
we languish
in our broken idyll
so duly run its course
as i
forced
into a crowded room
never
will that moment leave me
savagely
they barked their orders
all but one
was made to follow
unable
for reasons unknown
still
they beat him
heavy metal
tracers did surround his face
wailing
like a dog
in death throes
begging
for some form of mercy
slowly
it kept creeping toward me
his ever growing pool
of fresh blood
finally
it stopped
until they dragged him
to the room adjacent
ragged stewards
rushed in with mops
frantic to erase
the cold truth
blaring from the
windowed hallway
still
they struck him
struck him
still
never
was there any question
this man
had done nothing wrong
all that they had seen
was black
the color of his human flesh
for what it seemed
he surely passed
neither the first
nor the last
silent
is the call for justice
plastic badges
shine as gold
exacting
their will
at leisure
as black men suffer
tales untold
this pithy endeavor
shadows of dust
masquerading through time
i looked away
laughing
returning
to barrenness
the warmth
of her touch
once
insisted eternity
how quickly
it vanished
seen
through open eyes
this sand
shifts beneath us
swallowing memories
until we are hollow
devoid
of our sentiments
i still walk beside her
footsteps
in spectral snow
when all
turned to nothing
and she was no longer
and i
left behind
[image credit: Odilon Redon]
stranded
between the contrast
defining the moon
a face
e’er blazoned
to man
dark
and unseen
vibrant
and garish
either
is not
what it seems
Max, or Not 
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