i remember it like it happened this morning;

the day t.v. programming was so inane, so vacuous.
i, too, that i found myself choosing to watch another
kill-all movie: STEVEN SEGAL, another of Dante's Hells.

upon that dilemma of my seeing myself naked as Adam & Eve
and feeling as much disambiguation as to shade the day's Sun,
i let the King sleep; wile away his hours of recuperation.

day is brought to you in a foreign language
and the word for the day: hoardes.

congestion of space, of meaning, of essence. confusion, delusion.
illusion. three men in a boat judging a sunset in dynamic laws.
daily, poets face the page. the relentless, absorbing page, soul-exposer.

seems a stunt pulled by the gods, sent from God-as we, and dance
becomes our way of repayment for delivery of goods, abilities.
a crack in the windshield of life can worsen or shatter, not heal.

sometimes it gets so different, we each have to start using words.

03/16/2011

Posted on 03/16/2011
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan