Mind Travels:  Part Five

Three Poems

Remorseful Escape

Some line up

Others are pushed

But each and everyone

Is more or less deformed.

But they are no loner

A generation of

Goat Footed Children

Able to scar my psyche.

For they gave their beauty

As unstintingly

As unthinkingly

As they surrendered their virginity.

And I cry great sobs

Watching them run at last

But without pastures to remember

And fences to jump.

Declaration

As the poet I am entitled

To tell lies.

My children love me.

My work is important.

I understand the artistic process.

I love new experiences.

I love trying new venues.

My family and I have much in common.

I am not to blame for my problems.

I like my day job.

I am always searching for commitment.

My life today is better than it was fifteen years ago.

My government answers my calls.

I have always sought sexual equality.

My sanity comes before reimbursements.

As the poet

I am entitled

To redesigns thoughts and words

Happiness is more important that any job.

I can allow myself to be raped and enjoy it.

The Social Contract is being full filled.

Future generations will create Utopias.

I need intensity.

I like my day time.

Fate is between me and my Karma.

My family and I often talk.

I went down town yesterday.

I went to a movie last month.

We are all unwilling cogs.

My art is important.

My children love me.

My Reflection … Perhaps

I’m shaving when I think

I am a fool

Falling through something

I have perused and measured

Discussed and defined

Advised some to enter

Counseled others to avoid

Only to find

I am still falling into a pit of absurdity

Not sure of whom it is

I am shaving. 

And I am falling faster

Than my ego can follow

Naked and alone now

And dead, I dive

Asking anyone

Is it absurd to understand

Existence comes from essence

But refuses to believe it?

To know the only minutes

To be cherished

Are those which accompany

Irrevocable changes we must endure?

That both Hamlet and I know

Most of us are praying not for salvation

But to reach the end of life

Without once having to make

A decision?

That we stand now

On the edges of life’s great sand box

Proud of arriving

Completely undetected

Of squatting or acting normal

In anyway or manner?

Surely it is absurd

To slip into the warmth and wetness

Into the universal softness

As one un-responding entity.

Are not love and birthing

Also warm and wet and soft?