Bosswagon's blog

i deny your charge
that life is a sentence
too dull to drag onward
which pulls up short
of its circuit,
at whose heart
lies a longing
to radiate the room
and glue a glow to the walls.
this life is electric light
a predicted sequence
of turning on to a current
or shutting down
to the length of a leash
staked to the ground.

it came as no surprise,
the seasonal darkness

the trouble and fall of ill investors
will reveal old prosperities which see no rest
short of forfeiture of the body, the work week
and the various alarms that keep them company.

as company men walk out of the deep dark
that bretton woods intends to impose
through the combustion engine
and chemical euphoria,
the real passions of humanity will save us
from all we are forced to endure,

i could not imagine this sound
until i had heard that
which now lives inside me
had kept steady a beat
with all time and measure.

love outside is now love internal,
the decline of conceptual size.

your life is not waiting for you to come sing it to sleep.
there is no death like living to be forgiven
each person his own deterrent
from the tricks that nightmare
is driven to playing:

nothing to behold
marooned
left to die in disgrace.
to wake up he must:

stand tall.
teach and
be taught.

time is without utility
for a booming heart in still waters
meant soon to crash into the bank
to boom on land and straight through earth.
a tangled mess or utterly unwound
in the crust or the core
for true blue sky it is still sounding
and this is the decided roar:

"for nothing but meaning
do we incur in a lifetime
no treasure for heaven
no place and no part."

"love is not what you think it is,
the slow slip into a grave
as you shove your dicks through holes in the coffin
and remark how right, this feeling of death.
you will someday shake with the truth
that we were always
more than we knew.
all of us and the women too,
miracles already with room to grow
if granted the freedom from material
of inelastic depth

i was not built to purchase
this fact of my fabric has placed me at the feet of an employer begging to be relieved of this shiver
but he cannot relate, broad shoulders under animal skins, tendons still attached and left to dangle. but they were not built to be dangled.

our parents left us to wash in their problems. they turned our cities over to goon squads so they could maintain clean white hands and not waste a work day on human problems. now we pay agents not to interpret but to show force and mock us with their existence and power we never should donate to violence.

“a man’s own head is his own town” well you’re goddamn right i uncovered that as it dripped down the millions of trees into only my hands as if it were meant for nobody else. i mean nowhere is a proper place for nobody and nowhere should death be kept out of the papers. i know of a township where that has always been done.