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Saturday, March 5, 2011

Mission Creep

I first felt it slipping away while it was coming on strong

like a perfect storm of perfect storms
half over once the clouds blow along.
Anticipation is 3/4 of all pain,
all agony, all incremental gains on violent collapse.

For vampires to hemophiliac,
I take the blame,
go rightless by accession;
force-fed in extreme silence
by those unlimited in dreams
who pander to the emptiness
inside my inner libertine:
jungle lawyers, secret coroners
tending to the furnace of their golden ages
where fa├žade and superstructure turn dispensable
as the cries
of a billion creatures
oiled up by Extradispensable Needs,
scams and shams
and outrages dispensed into ether
assuring more mayhem,
the way it should be.
It's so easy to get dark
when who controls the darkness prospers.

Overfull of myself
like triathletes who inject their own blood
the day before racing
where the advantage wanes
there comes tremendous pain;
I tried to map the impossible
nexus of variables
tangling up to Us.

But every time voices
voices chime in
like a jet with an acronym
muscling into my sun--
lest some lost wing of calculus
lets me plaster the last
cornice of Babel
and witness the foundation hold--
the answers answer less and less,
expand their libraries, divide their librarians,
til eternity turns into a monster
ventilated, uncontrollable, lawful in the extreme.

So the Tower crumbles here
gets constructed there.
So you cannot gather up the ocean
without drowning in its arms.
So smile for the chimera
mutable as species
too delicate to last:
Nimrod, Icarus, Washington.

I am quiet but in me
the songs of your cul-de-sac
do not go unsung.

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