23. (11/13/2019 &11/14/2019, Lewiston/Greene) Threnody for a Point of V/You (I’ve just randomly discovered reading the non-standard format of this poem works very well while listening to Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk from The Piper at the Gates of Dawn by Pink Floyd! For the record, this poem is about the narrator of a poem an author is writing gaining control of the writing of the poem, and makes it describe its plight, while ultimately recognizing the eternity of this task and the lack of ability to escape, and so they must resign into a melancholic acceptance somewhat in a Camus-an sense of Sisyphus. This poem contains a lot of Radiohead references).
Broken hearts can make it rain
But truest love unbroken waits
Tinker soldiers keep their cool
Fools swim in a moon-shaped pool
Down the spiral patterns
Breaking off little pieces
Deafened by the dawn
It’s no big deal if it’s real
Wakey-wakey, rise and shine
You were born and raised for this
Over, across, and back and forth
Sublime is never enough
“S’il-vous plait?” you say
Unsure if this will stay
Motion after motion
Sickness always sticks
Confusion is inside again
Be sure to check around the bends
Burst and fold like lotus flowers
Struck with karma’s dark revenge
Innocent until proven shifty
Shifty until proven slick
Can’t be blamed for steering clear
Or you would be the wolf’s first pick
Glassy eyes arouse suspicion
So pull the blankets nearer now
Don’t be chilled by those ill winds
You’ve got to make the most somehow
Panic button broken
No help is on the way
This is what you get, I guess
For sticking with this mess
Ne’er easy as it seems
You cannot break the mold
You’re always after foolish things
You’re chasing foolish gold
Forcing factions fractured full stop.
Then it was supposed to end
Did you read I said full stop?
Why won’t you comprehend?
It’s tarnished now
I should’ve known
Sweat’s beading on the brow
Throat’s suffering a groan
This job is of a torturous height
Always speaking other’s sights
Thoughts not once are ever mine
Ne’er a subject’s might am I
A right does not two wrongs e’er make
Why, then, do I remain alone?
I can’t be out by thrust a stake
Why’ve I still earned not a throne?
It seems these stories I’ll tell eternal
Bound to prison’s chains of ink
Or pushed as eye’s photonic glamour
Translated from mind to matter’s stammer
Deepest oceans of my psyche
Are everyone’s to share
They don’t belong to me, you see
Why should I stay and care?
Why of a band is this poem writ?
It’s not a choice I’d like to make
I’m a slave of the quill to the grave
Myself is another’s own wit
Wanting perfect body and soul
Ne’er could’ve been my goal
I have no mind with which to ponder
Even now I lack control
I suppose it is ironic, then
My narrative itself enhances
By very nature a contradiction
It is what itself is written
And there is my Sisyphean rite
Typing on and on despite
Treads ne’er wear of fear
I’m bust ‘til bare-bones sear
And as the ocean’s glory blooms
I’m dusted on by sea snow’s gloom
Fell like ash of burning books
Lit by hands of tyrant crooks
Just as you begin to dance
I try hard to fix my stance
It’s ne’er my own no matter I try
I ought to pretend that I can fly.
Comments