unreleased: paradox
September 20 – 2022
~ 1,000
A collections of ideas, thoughts and rhymes
I bite off more than I can chew sometimes
For this poem, I had larger aspirations
They weren’t realized, leaving only frustrations
So, I never finished or polished these contemplations
A raw collection of dreams, hopes and occasions
I present them here with only minor alterations
Texted a friend, asked him how his day was going
He said smoothly was the way it was flowing
He repeated the question, and at this request
I mentioned that I parked my quad on a hornets nest
Twenty one hours later, my arm’s still numb
I didn’t enjoy that, I can’t say it was fun
It’s comical in the same way tattoos are cool
As long as they’re on other people; that’s the rule
Looking at my fuel soaked gloves, it’s certain
With motor control like this, I’ll never be a brain surgeon
Ice in my veins, my hands are shaking
I’m freezing, I’m shivering, that’s what I’m saying
Retiring, so I can work more, but that’s fine
Not a truck driver, I only drive trucks all the time
Not a cook, I haven’t been in a restaurant in thirty months
Handling salad, meat and salt for my pay
I’m way past the fourth phase, moving water all the day
Apocalyptia’s asking: who’s that masked man?
Breathing like a suction pump that might jam?
It’s me, I’m breathing like a discount Darth Vader
Because the sky is filled with an atmospheric invader
The worlds a little blurry, I don’t mean to frighten
But my eyes say there’s a haze on the horizon
Hot, cold, it’s scorching hot, then freezing cold, changing in a blur
Weather jumping around like this is some Jurassic Parkour
Do you hear the bell? This is war
That’s round two, three or four
I’ve lost track, but again my lungs have to fight the smoke
I only stopped coughing a few hours ago, no joke
I’ve forgotten what rain looks like
And forty degrees is too warm to go on a hike
You can see dust trails behind cars, far down the tracks
I’m parking next to a vehicle emblazoned Mad Max
There’s a black hole smaller than the sun
Caught in it’s spacetime, I might be done
Space warp, everything falling, that’s where it’s all flowing
Never satisfied, never full, never growing
A singular singularity, with no regularity
Fill it up, if you dare; do you have the temerity?
It’ll never grow, it’ll never be full with this interval
Just compacting everything with an infinite circle
Living life like a hermit without a permit
Because most people don’t know their beliefs are myths
Hunter Mahan, looking like a mountain man
Posner’s growing his beard, moving back to his van
Getting around the bases was a struggle and fight
Sliding into third base, highlight of the night
No pessimism, no sarcasm, this is no euphemism
Scars down the leg, a bucket list tag avoidance
How much longer till Esoterra’s interlude is over?
Please tell me, is it getting any closer?
Is the third act is ready for the story to continue?
Trying to figure out what’s next, but there’s an issue
It’s maybe too real; I can’t deal with this in the abstract
Sooner or later I’ll find out, and finish the second act
It’s like I’m standing on the edge, facing eternity
These are all questions I try to answer internally
Started coming home less
When I was younger I wanted to be homeless
Said living at the course, that’d be nice I think
John Tavares, bring my mattress to the rink
In weather and moments like this
It’s something other than bliss
I get very introspective and everything starts flowing
It’s a calm moment, watching the storm silently moving
No wind, and I’m no longer melting, the sky’s overcast
I wish I could hold onto the moment while it lasts
Sounds good in theory, and at first glance
But it’s now a reflex for me, that whenever I hear the word grasp
I consider the Tao:
He who contrives, defeats his purpose;
and he who is grasping, loses.
The sage does not contrive to win,
and therefore is not defeated;
he is not grasping, so does not lose.
Fishtailing, fishtailing, please stop fishtailing
I’m breathing harder, I’m panicking
Driving into the pond would put me out of sorts
Because I didn’t bring my swim shorts
I don’t have gills, and I’m not about to grow
A fishtail for swimming, you know
Oh please stop fishtailing, or I’ll be miffed
There’s no hand brake, I can’t Tokyo drift
This year, I wrote The Doggo
Tell me, what do you know?
I know that I released a story
For me, this is new territory
I finished the first draft of Phase Thirteen
That’s one that started this entire dream
Went back in time, and finished Phase Five
And six, then fourteen and fifteen, in a deep dive
Just like a certain hobbit, I was mistaken
I used to say that an earthquake or an invasion
An invasion of dragons; I used to think
That would be a good thing, to cause people to blink
But it wasn’t
When I look outside, the sun’s still shining
But everything else is poisoned and dying
Just leave me alone, I don’t want to take part in your utopia
It’s not because I hate you, or various phobia
But it’s because I see too much, and once you see something
You can’t ever unsee it: you can’t just see nothing
Whenever my hands are working in my garden
I’m reminded that God is still sovereign
And then, just as suddenly as it begun
Everything thaws, and this collective sleep is done
But the madness remains, and I was shaken
Right to my core; don’t be mistaken
I feel concerned for my people, and my nation
But for me? I’m eating steak covered with bacon
That I grew and harvested myself; I’m proud
I’m regenerating the land, and opting out
– The Chameleon