BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

Ten of Twelve

Man ... does the rest of the fucking world have some ability that I don't know about? It seems like I'm some sort of a shit bag for wanting to finish up on what I'm in the middle of working on when I'm RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE of working on something. My protestations of "hey, let me finish this and I'll be out in a few minutes" gets nowhere ... man ... now I'm on edge and want to break something ... damn.


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                    WE STINK WITHIN STASIS


                    unable to gauge
                    what passes through time
                    unable to place
                    events in the stream
                    all lines simultaneous
                    all markers unset
                    all swirling and churning
                    in kaleidoscope twists
                   
                    we try to divide
                    we try to align
                    but all separations
                    ooze back to the whirl
                    and all points of reference
                    blur under the flow
                    leaving us nothing
                    for judgement or act
                   
                    so many doubts form
                    on too many fronts
                    we can't justify
                    what others believe
                    too much dissonance
                    between the words and the deeds
                    to many dark shadows
                    on unlikely planes
                   
                    no connections
                    with expectations
                    no synch with intent
                    all is a tumble
                    a misstep on the stairs
                    leading us downward
                    into confusion and pain
                    humiliation and shame
                   
                    now is the doldrums
                    without focus or goal
                    we stink within stasis
                    more rotten each day
                    all vectors putrescent
                    all visions but dreams
                    we wait out a sentence
                    which may never end



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                07/24/2002

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
 
 



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