the erotics of incomplete thoughts
as if to question reality
for its lip-service stance
it is hard to get to source
when rhetoric is all icing
for the cake itself
has undisclosed ingredients
no labeling has the wherewithal
to pronounce what reality is
now viably,
no chew-ably composed of
the taste itself
is beyond simple detection
it is somewhat about the direct ingredients
but also about the kitchen it is cooked in
the chefs and otherwise included as the staff
the basic eating establishment
as a working concept
and the long lines of customers
to serve on its own behalf
so this was intended to be celebrative
not sure where gaiety fits in
the taste in the mouth overrides
maybe it's a theme party gone mad
and mood-swings were ever expected
if this is
an off-broadway post party celebration
I simply have forgotten
the point of the show
I have audience-embarrassment syndrome
on my mind
I can't help but think
how did we get here
and who recommended
this is worse than a house of cards
or a funhouse of mirrors
what was I thinking
and from where what I was
prompted to think
did it actually come from
is this a board-game made reality presented
and I have been hustled into
a player status unknown,
even to myself
the erotics have become histrionic
yet appearing to not be overplayed
I am now of token worth
bankrolled against my knowledge or will
a pawn without a handgrip in sight
just passive into nausea as a busy life
I need a real dream-state awakening
some eventfulness that hits home to core
some impact
beyond devastation as metaphor
some essence of regroup to admit to source
these are special times
they call for the species itself to wake up
recess has become ridiculously repressive
I want play under an original lighting
lines of deliverance
to be spoken in exchange
the wealth of being back in the format
where a wisdom is lived
and not lip-service spoken . . .
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