THROUGH STATIONS OF DECAY
1
the words do not compute,
the meanings won't align;
we are stymied,
stuck in these in-betweens
which are gridless
and without marks,
unable to orient,
all adrift in grey
2
too many weights
crush in from outside,
we must harbor a darkness
which sucks in all mass,
for every vector
brings pressures to bear,
there is no direction
not parent to pain
3
all our desires,
illusions, dissolving,
fading from our fingertips
as we would reach to grasp
the dreamed-of forms;
too many things enact this,
taunting our needs,
mocking our lack
4
caught in whirlwinds
built of demand,
where are the beginnings
that seed such storms?
we can not control these
but perhaps might find
a way to still the trigger
before the chaos builds
5
the heat, unexpected,
oppresses the brain
and spins fresh blades
from the fibers of the mind;
we can not filter
the vision from the seen,
the voices heard within
from the incessant din without
- Brendan Tripp
05/31/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp