A Reminder

I thought of the title of this thing when I read this. One of the most pessimistic things that I have put to paper. I found it on a receipt for a French immersion weekend from when I was at university. Days are gone. I remembered that I wrote it in the back seat of the car of a former love who was giving me a ride home. Such is the life of the student whose friends line up with exes. The desperate attempt to reconcile the feelings I still had with the situation I had put myself in.



A life is always incomplete because of its constant need for supplementation.  A love that is presented to us is only an attempt to find a complete/whole being—as with much of the rest of the world.  The meaning is often a victim of differentiation and deferral.  It becomes an idea with your meaning imposed on it—you are really trying to complete life, so you attempt to give love that job.  When love is lost or becomes insubstantial, you realize that its meaning was imposed by you and that you have raped the idea.  Then the gravity of the situation elevates itself and supplementation becomes muddled with grief.  The spiral to life’s culmination becomes a wall-scraping gyre where incongruent meanings provide relief in the form of company.

Paper Flowers

 I can see the paper

scattered and know

where it goes and

what it means—

I even see the tools

to bring about its union—

but the inspiration

it remains clouded

by an undercurrent.

Like the sea, we,

the thoughts, are all pulled

toward it. Life runs

into us and back

but always pulled

in one direction.

The very same.

The one culled

from the voice

in our heads.

How deaf

can I be to its call

and let my actions

remain objective?

These scraps, all different

shapes but similar

are pulled together.

They have no issue

of togetherness, no indignation

toward unfulfilled ends.

No confusion of emotions.

They fit soundly

around their pin

to form a shape.

Their parts become

a whole. Then,

what obstruction shadows

the plainview processes

of the mind. Transfigured,

is the idea changed?

We give it away

like pulling a barbed arrow.

The gift

reveals its sway

over headlong ideas

because the current

will pull but

it will always

be brought back

to shore.

-tm

Been at it soo long.

So, it's been a LONG time since I have put anything up here, but I haven't really been in a writing mood (I guess). However, things kind of sparked today--I'm going to blame this on my dad giving me extra strength pm's and the coffee that I drank--the weather helped too (see first two). Becca got me back in the groove. Good day, overall.

Half-Tone, Whole Picture

Throwing

uppers at downers

the head swing-sets

at the day's downturn.

Chocolate dipped

2 parts per whole

spitting brown—bitter.

Fluid rush.

Views long exposed

at turns, when air

pools into swaths

painting each intake.

Feel it all around you.

Descend at leisure.

~tm

Static

Waffled nose from

pancaking the screen

to get a whiff

of winter's rsvp

after a long break—

fast is the embrace.

It redials

grocery store moments

at 6, leaning in toward

cooled meat and breathing deep

as it blisters outdoors.

Even after the crest

of two decades

still scaling

white mounds.

Always,

it will be

a child.

~tm

I did this one for a good friend of mine.

Fox in the Tall Grass

Sleeking its way,

grass combs her

sides, gentle and lush.

Bit by bit, through gaps

she graces those attentive

few. Know what is worthy

and all she offers becomes

valued. Time, a needed affair

among drowning excess.

Her simplicity reveals

her beauty—all coveted.

Now, the grass that hides

mirrors those moments away

pushing to follow

but I settle—warmed.

~tm

this one doesn't have a name... it's probably not done actually... don't know why i'm putting it up here. Incentive for finishing maybe? Classic case.

Paper,

swirling bits—

inner cores

all gravitated.

To war

d'offense.

I've focused

too hard

to hard

the ends.

~tm

let's hope that this keeps up.

love.