dulci redeant

I.

autumn is when the mad return

out from underneath the fake bliss of summer,

with its sun & tan lotions

greasing up the swine for

slaughter.

 

II.

desensitized & deadened,

welcoming violence like it was a

warm &

loving

bunch of relatives

come home for the “holidays’---

the wide eyes of our youth

writhe in neon splendor

with paralyzed thumbs & index,

pattering away their days

to the beat

all the same

drum---

they’ll all be such good little soldiers,

until the robots replace them.

 

III.

and you know me,

you’ve seen me before,

staring back in your mirror,

king/queen of every cliché that you can dream

up,

critic of all critics,

hater of all haters,

filled up to the brim with destruction &

fist clenching the sharpest object to stab

repeatedly, worse than Elliot could of ever

imagined,

more effective than Jodi could even

believe---

this is the way it begins

when you let the impossible

in.

 

IV.

compartmentalize the sinister &

be a good little citizen,

compartmentalize the murderous &

be a good little citizen---

suppress the inner beauty that stems from

the id,

what could be if what “should” be

was erased from all memory &

what is,

became more than tolerated,

it became the way of the world,

when all false pretense got washed away

with the

tide.

 

V.

now what could this be?

the hum of violins in Beethoven’s wake,

the tones that fill a room & suspend the

notion of putting a gun in one’s throat?

while for some, such music might do just

that.

 

VI.

these dead October leaves

crinkling beneath my feet

as i trudge through the asphalt

on the way back home

from the way to work

from the way from home

to the way to work,

a hamster on the wheel

running with hope his heart will

stop,

running with the only meaning being

the

running.

 

VII.

Layne’s scream, Layne’s deathly drag

bring appropriate mood tones to the room,

shedding the elements of joy,

shedding the elements of hope,

cutting down all possibility &

forcing one to dwell in the moment,

expecting

absolutely nothing

from anyone or

anything---

as these days grow shorter &

as the wrinkles attack the

unaccepting. 

 

VIII.

these horrible memories

which inhabit the mind

during the transitional months,

find a place among the

constant & unceasing

trembles of terror

which darken the heart &

bring pain whenever one thinks

they can run away.

 

IX.

and what is this,

the fear of “hell?”

as if there wasn’t enough here

right now,

in the face of all your worries,

in the face of all that is,

all that is tangible,

all that is

real---

you’ve no more run away

from what is right inside you,

than you have become

just exactly what it is that you

fear the most.

 

X.

all these regrets,

all these things that one wishes for,

all these things that one fantasizes and

entertains themselves with,

on their own time---

as if there would be a way someday,

to rearrange the past,

to do it all over again,

to be

forgiven,

to be

redeemed---

you & i know better,

don’t we---

for when it all comes down,

when it all is summed up,

it was for nothing &

the beauty,

the destruction,

can all be found in the sweet madness,

the sweet fight

in the embracing of

a

vehement

indifference.