November 4th, 2001


la, la, la ...

Oh, yeah .. another poem. A new month. Another day older and deeper in shit. I have passed the point of being able to deal with anything. I am a turd floating in a downward spiral ... and life is one big flush. The Wife (she who thinks that moving to the Suburbs is a really good idea) is now riding my ass for "planning for this" and "planning for that" she either can not see or, more likely, really doesn't care how this shit hits me. I am incapbale of dealing with this reality. She's going to have to instruct the movers to box me up too when they come to get everything. I am already gone, just waiting for the worms.

                    EXECUTION'S GRIM AWAITING

                    a place without plan
                    a zone without focus
                    we are here
                    but do not know
                    where to go, what to do
                    we are dragged down
                    by destruction
                    with no route for escape

                    even our evisceration
                    seems to have no schedule
                    as though we waited
                    in some holding cell
                    in view of the gallows
                    but are left here forgotten
                    awaiting worlds' convenience
                    for when the axe will swing

                    so liminal, so between
                    we have no actions
                    which await
                    we have no intents
                    which abide
                    we drift through, empty
                    unable to create
                    unable to incite

                    we see no location
                    we see no function
                    we see no context
                    in which we still can be
                    all our matrix
                    is stripped away
                    leaving us naked, exposed
                    a fossil from better days

                    in this darkness
                    we sit and wait
                    signing this
                    sending that
                    walking through the circles
                    delimiting our world
                    wondering when chaos
                    will spring to our demise

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp

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