Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Poetry

(a “carpe diem”):
(rem. David Bowie’s glass spiders)

it’s like being drifted out of the feverish boat race and
even if you could still take part:
perspective changed skipped so fast and sudden
you understand that it’s true that life’s so short and this
comes basically unexpected,
not understood, an actual discovery, while
there never was a cheap paradise in permanence but truth in dissipation,
you couldn’t really start another whole drive, with all those gears, irreversible you
maybe even irresistible you but
that river shows no mercy or return –
after the skimming shimmering simmering cycles of life..
this may come as a surprise but
by now You even know it… even You:
nobody would take you any serious anymore
no chance to work through all that again:
even if they’d let you
at all your mind would repeat
dizzy adverbs interfering apostrophes silly speculating spondees – so
You begin to relax in giving that up, the adverts –
but this is no function of omitting,
realizing that the positioning of switches in mid-life really deserved their name,
no extra game granted as if you could choose ‘success’ one time later on
‘next time everything will be different’ but
this Is IT, no diversification, testing of another disguise, or schedule or skin
and it’s dawning upon You, You begin to see, play with that option
just because there’s nothing else to do:
that’s a state of grace
we’re so restricted under the thunder’s voice and
lightning strikes the waters we can’t escape
where limits between life plans blur and open a trade at the border-zone
the playfield’s rim, theatrical domain where arid places promise the song beyond
- and the metabolism of a Kalahari bushman would not force him to drink so often as you do -
- to repent of a choice is for unprofessional players on the field of life, those
with time for irrelevant contemplation, cowardly misinterpreting the ruling of time,
while sensing the beauty
of the pedigrees of possibilities,
the forking of ways,
the relief
no more competition no more fear of maybe
completely, of failure, irrevocable pain
the fight no more, the Right Stuff demands ran out of time, fulfilled or not,
correlated dreams corrected (already long ago)
no more the rewinding of projects of the givens of clever calculus
schemes of happiness, agreement on agenda, society’s spine
the fire fright firsty fringe and freeze
of loneliness
that race is run: bearing the siblings the contest of care the desire of greener grasses
homesteads assumed riches and resovolutions deserved departures outstanding ovations
restless rightful rising risks sucking success defending daydreams however hopes hesitate
envying emergency with jealous jesters fearing their joyless jokes
satisfied saturated sex (safer ?)
Again as the emblem of choice reflects just a vision among so many strewn out
like God for the workers – the meaning obscure, the relevance questionable, the consequence mean, the discussion just some cute beauty for the academics, the same
governed by
the social: in these historic gestures
the deep resemblance of efforts in the stream like
bearing water and defecating -
you, but you in age crawling
lean back in warm estuaries just so long as You mind the crocodiles
everything seems will be is
o. k.
(yourself skin-changed so often remaining true in horny horn-like spiny cloak)
those sandbanks eventful vortices near the border at the shore,
bound to dissolve
you gleam with glee over to the young ones racing, soft supporter, smooth operator
if options open overt opalescence
holding their breath calculating the torque balancing the show
if You’re good
you can enjoy
relax penetrate get impregnated by
the ‘last sweetness of summer’
as the children ask the questions of adults already
sad to see with their restless oars, already all ready, pulsed by the tide,
there’s their life of theirs, let ‘em go…, right ?
task fulfilled (or not) quest ended challenge closed
another relationship for it all is no option and the females know sense that your role has changed
you continue with the old flavor and nostalgia’s windings
no meeting with buggies the proud strenuous care
no checking out for another home and chance
but refuge
Tenderness now like wholly new titillating and teasing now taking time
not only in the color of your strength trivial nervous blasting furnace,
striving for excellence
free to find own ways
together and always a realm of memories, webs and threads and membranes
of human flow
that should have been intertwined like the fingers of two hands caressing reaching out,
your life being on the shadow side now, ‘wrong historical phase’: it never recovered,
wrong place: ‘only’ socially inflicted divisions on life sections -
nevertheless real, no turning the tide, the stream rushes on and the day will end
you tumbled in alternatives for too long, imagined an escape, a union, a tribe,
where you’d mumble secret stories into rosy infants’ ears, get consolation
by lore for the mornings of your desi-red impotence, mild songs of how the earth put it right
the peace of the ancients and utopia, indulgence,
the biophysics of justice, the chemistry of what just is
the river you turn to, but assured, in conscious beautiful dignity, a vision
and now a caressing voice now a dewdrop a silence even
maybe in the dance of your wrinkles the juice of exhaustion
cautious curious cuddling
care-free cascades tuning the taste of remaining remedies in lustful longing
Your now cool culture coloring depends
on how You regain recover rewake
and the spacious ocean is where all belongs all races converge
a gain
no easy solutions deliberations (‘a malo’ ?) expected anymore, so: not required
the evidence of the basics not to be avoided
return to childhood where all borderlines held a plaything
the wisdom of letting go of half-hearted touch the music of effort/less care not
designs of danger but long breath of lingering that you know
relaxes to rest
in peace

still looking for joy, joy, always for joys… as if a duty ? obsession
insatiable greed for life sens-ations kicks not to be stilled satisfied
or overgrown

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