obstinate denial of reality

a boy’s obstinate denial of reality

i can be
as delusional as
anyone else. beaten
for a second place finish
with a long-shot’s
confidence of eventual
conquest, yet here
i go; chasing

so who is this virtuoso derailing a figure in the mirror as fire burns away toward the bottom of the bowl? i’d be fine with what remains but flashes of bright light don’t scream out ‘welcome one & all.’ i got places to be, same as anyone else, and doppelganger or not, there are a million ways to lose & even more desperation to succeed at something.

begging price is
two-lines loaded
& locked in place.
i want so badly
to know you &
instead you’re
swept along
toward choices
you never made
tarted up to
seem like self-

look at you.
look at me.

my beautiful valentinian; my virtuoso on an instrument who gave me my name in a poem. you told me i was the kind of guy easy to forget about at exactly the right time; whatever made her give up sticking to anything but breezy atmospheric afternoons never was confirmed to the satisfaction of his minimal desire. she couldn’t turn around without hearing his music; he couldn’t turn around without hearing the same broken promises he’d be telling himself years later.

constantly foretold
i’d grow out of
my infantile gesticulations.
i waited forever &
nothing happened.
romance is paper
clip creations of
nightmarish overtones;
chemical alterations
of an unknown
count & varying

i get tired of beating the same drum for what is essentially painstaking claims of persuasive denial; you’ll never take me completely apart down to the cylinders and ball bearings. i might be a naive suburbanite but that doesn’t mean a ditch digger’s paradise scares me. another friday night locked in a never-ending passion play that doesn’t convince anyone in the audience to get the hammer and nails. try and fail, try and fail, try and make progress; a percussion beat for those of us ground down to the core. anyhting left over is evidence or penitence or the parochial trebuchet pressure ready to burst from the pent up desire.

my fantasy is finding
out someone is listening
& is ready to
help me bottom out
long enough to think
about everything
destroyed as a matter
of course. loathe the
machine, worship a
firing-squad, get rich
trying to speak.

everything there is to offer i didn’t want. what was desperately needed wasn’t local to the scene; foreign accents denominated in breakfast tea and that high class style that exists only in the back of my mind as english poets speak in accents accusing me of failure to take the medicine provided by the good people of the underworld. a raccoon eyed boy ready to give it all away for five seconds of supple eyes seeing what is already lain on the altar ready to bleed.

fuck it.
look at me.
look at you.


An experiment in a new mix of prose & poetry in a poetic form. Call it what you want, but the form works well to clean the claws and talk through frustrations. Nothing like being extraneous to the situation at hand. Guess we’re stuck where we are, and I for one am dying to get on with other questions beside garden variety faith and awakenings that are just narcoleptic episodes. Waking up wondering what the fuck just happened is trying on the best of us, let alone the functionally common such as myself.

Dedicated to someone very important to me. Inspired by brushing my hair and waiting for the last line to be formed from leftovers. In the next life I wanna come back as your next cigarette. Or maybe as a hummingbird. Or maybe as a poem written by some stranger on a friday night wondering about what the fuck would drive someone that crazy. As I said in the comments earlier, it does help. hahahahahaha, maybe some regular prose tomorrow. It has been a while.

12 Responses to “obstinate denial of reality”

  1. Scent of my heart Says:

    Any form of your words would be perfect / to me at least/. Sadness, frustration … let them go.I like your evening posts, though this one made me a bit sad for some reason! Have a good night!

    • Just working out the kinks in a new form; relying on old emotional detritus to build something better with which to communicate through I suppose. Besides, my mood heavily influences word choice and to be honest, I don’t actually remember posting this. That aside, mixing in prose makes the poetic form much more elastic. If there is anything valuable to me, it is more room to run with. So kind of a good news/bad news thing. Glad you liked it, I’m gonna work on something similar in form but different in theme later today. Have a good weekend,


  2. admire that you remain quite productive.
    keep sharing.
    have a lovely weekend.

  3. Very lovely, glad to see you have emerged from darkness – your shadow in light has followed you as it must into darkness, disappearing to emerge intact once again.

    • Glad you dug it; as I said in another comment, I am pretty happy with the way this came out. I think the mix of vitriol & despondency makes for such a violent collision. Hope you are having a good weekend. Now it’s time for college football, chili, and the like on a beautiful day. Later gater.


  4. Flannel By Any Other Name Says:

    In admiration of persistence,as some journeys are much more complicated than others…


  5. Flannel By Any Other Name Says:

    – a mathematical ode to persistence, as some journeys in life are more complex than others


  6. Flannel By Any Other Name Says:

    There was apparently a technical difficulty… the first one disappeared altogether, now there are two (slightly different) – hopefully the football game you are watching doesn’t have glitches (sp?) like this! hahahaha

    • Fun fun. Sorry, you lost me on the math (not my strong suit by any means!) but very true, some journeys take more persistence than others. I guess to me it always about what you can or can’t get away with. Appreciate the idea!


  7. Wow, I really love this..

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