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reducing
by Charlie Morgane-mails, small, pathetic, small,
all small, so i can enlarge a pic
of the him in my life; really, my life.
he's living in a frame of screen saverdom;
a tosspot of drunkeness on his enjoyment
of the Zen moment, a nano of his being.
cameras blur him, you can't capture love
in motion, happy in a momentary being;
we settle for the figments of pigments.
fragments of life living, enjoyment;
so i reduce groans of lovers crossed,
jibberish, on a poem's page--pathetic.
so, list your lovers and moan, groan,
gripes, about ephemery, and all your
hurts that don't count, atleast not
to me, as i read explicit and youth;
both conjoined at the hips with shock.
understand nothing but what's not real.
go on with the value of nothing--you;
yet open your mouth thinking it's your
heart and it's revealing but for naught.
if pathos is another's dick in your face
or up your thighs, and cum all over you
then one day you'll awaken and sigh, for
what is shock is shit, and you smile
for having shocked the world with your
diatribe of foolishness, non-worth. 10/22/2008 Posted on 10/22/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 10/22/08 at 03:50 PM Ewwwww...
Gives me shivers, Chaz. Kodak, Kojak. I love this. "figments of pigments" a fantastic capture. "go on with the value of nothing--you;" Seriously strong, but I feel your poet's soul on fire to address it... Fantastic write, darlin! Makes me glad you love me ;-D When a poet's soul is churning, the words are burning...
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| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 10/22/08 at 04:19 PM I think "zen" might be just a tad generous on that account. I'm right there with the frustration of it. I appreciate your hopes for the likes of that kind of expression, that one day, this sort of writer might wake up and realize how value-less the retelling of these experiences are. But I fear even that hope is for naught. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 10/22/08 at 11:45 PM Quite a rant my friend and no doubt deserved. |
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