YET HAVING LESS
so, there it is,
the wasteland,
the empty plane,
the place where all
things are shriveled,
sere husks in heat,
void and waiting
the sweeping winds
this hollowness
consumes each point
we have none of now
nor slice of then
we lost all here
in promise of there
and find no anchor
even if in jest
the void escapes
construction bounds
and spreads as meme
sudden through each frame,
its unformed crystals
seize all flow,
dropping from the sensate
to the vacant realms
worlds betide themselves,
they bear the banners
of their founding states
and move in lockstep
to the martial themes
which herald their deity;
no escaping this,
no single mode to flee
and so, downward,
into darkness,
into the gap
between existences,
the crowbar purchase
of ripped facades,
left knowing nothing
and yet having less
- Brendan Tripp
12/02/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's twentyfour ...
CRUSHED, SNUFFED OUT
more failure
more loss,
we can not achieve
anything we plan,
we can not attain
one of our desires,
we are damned,
cast down, accursed
nothing works here,
nothing succeeds,
we fail in detail
and we fail in whole,
no matter the frame
no matter the focus
our intents falter
our aims are destroyed
nothing we do
makes any difference
all acts breed disaster
all hopes seed attacks
by a criminal world
which is so aligned
to crush us to nothing
and snuff out our light
we battle the day
and try to hold night
but these lines constrict
and we can't shift
these burdens of ours
into fresh hours,
do drained is our time,
so limited, bare
entering void,
the darkness grips,
we are bound
with chains of damnation,
anchored to
the sacrifice stone,
yet not for atonement
but vile simple spite
- Brendan Tripp
12/04/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's twentyfive ...
SOMEHOW REMOVED
1
in abstraction,
all this falls
to number, form;
things decay
to lowest states,
dimension, focus,
points in space,
functions of time
2
so reckless,
we disregard
the reason sphere
seeking escape
by any means,
plotting a course
beyond our fears
of recurrence
3
even now
we see the flow
and how intents
are smothered under waves;
all systems set
are shattered here,
made unable
to sustain
4
we reach for things
that are not there,
flail at absences
not wholly sensed
or able to be framed
by our perception;
so needful, aching,
for our desires
5
point of tracing
we cut a path
in generated space
not real, not here,
but yet described
by the same math
somehow removed
to other spheres
- Brendan Tripp
12/06/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's twentysix ...
AND HOW CLOSE DOOM
of absence,
what is retained?
only loss of time,
only hours stripped away;
ease and calm
evaporate with dawn,
rest negated
by the panic shift
all trite lines
come to bear,
no matter where we go
the self is there,
no matter what we do
this weight of darkness
won't disappear
from our soul
all efforts, then,
fated to waste,
all visions of
some sweet escape,
hallucinations,
mirages thrown
by deep fatigue
and torture-bearing worlds
the anguish seethes,
roils and churns,
it is the ocean
in which we swim,
it is what we breathe
and are left to feed upon;
no day's without,
no sleep detached
horrid doubt,
gnawing fear,
we see how things
all fall apart,
how systems fail
and dreams decay,
and how close doom
approaches now
- Brendan Tripp
12/09/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's twentyseven ...
IN EVERY MOMENT'S PASSAGE
1
every disaster
is a second away,
we never have time
to savor success
because every good
unleashes the bad,
triggering onslaughts
of pain and destruction
2
around these cycles,
pressed to grinds,
we can not pause
to focus will,
we can not step
between the fires
to gather up our strength
to better stand these trials
3
in broken times,
all without seal,
we do not align
with normal scales,
can not attain
the mundane gauge,
and fail all surveys
for being not in synch
4
where is the key
to turn the world,
to unlock gates
which lead to light?
we are trapped here,
sealed within strain,
unable to reach
what lies beyond
5
memories reflect,
time twists around,
we fold these things
to encapsulate tomorrow
as though to set
back within
the absence swelling
in every moment's passage
- Brendan Tripp
12/11/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's twentyeight ...
LINES BENEATH THE WORDS
the numbers betray
the deeper doubt behind,
their symbols are masked
and made obscure
by madmen and prophets,
fools and the press,
unclear where to sort
unsure how to read
these calendars twist
as so many lie,
we pass, mark by mark,
all these events
which have no occurring
which fade into dreams
more bits of illusion
for the sleeping mass
which of these await
with kernels of truth,
which might bloom to the real
and find fruition
in such a barren field?
we trace the lines
beneath the words
in search of known glyphs
now take up patterns
ingrained of pasts
and seek to frame
them in new context;
so many chains
reach out of time
and make of freedom
a hazy dream
all is broken,
all incomplete,
there are no wholes
in shattered realms,
just shards and fragments,
sharp and razor edged,
awaiting mis-steps
to cut and bleed and bleed
- Brendan Tripp
12/12/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's twentynine ...
A TEARING DARKNESS
new depths are plumbed
of failure,
of remorse,
all our efforts
go for naught
and we plummet
to the abyss
of uselessness
no matter how
we press forward
they crush us still,
no matter how
we rail at time
it goes its way
unyielding to our pleas,
uncaring of our pain
too many things
are wasted here,
too much has gone
into inky voids
from which there's no return,
no retrieval,
no redemption,
no redress
we descend
towards black hole stars,
a tearing darkness
killing even light,
a gravid zone
where everything is weight
and bears upon us
lethal and unending
no power is
which frees from this,
no pathway worms
beyond its grasp,
we suffer unseen
by outer worlds
and scream unheeded
by even death
- Brendan Tripp
12/16/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... that's thirty ...
ALL THESE BUTCHERED DREAMS
1
in disbelief
in shortness of breath
in a panic
in all lateness
in deep dread
in anticipation
in transit
in time, perhaps
2
all vectors lead
towards anguish,
no direction
is free of angst,
of things undone,
and failures waiting
the insufficience
we have yet to face
3
unwhole patterns,
what leads beyond?
can we attain
some unity
if all is broken,
disjointed and piecemeal?
the downhill grasps
without means to steer
4
cycles of self-loathing,
spinning rounds
of dire despite,
seething hatred
of all that is human
as the self is human,
the dragging weight
of all that dirt
5
nothing remaining,
all is bled away,
intent falters
against unending blasts;
we reek of death,
everything is tainted
with the decay
of all these butchered dreams
- Brendan Tripp
12/17/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
... and that is thirtyone ... which is all that I have ready for you today!
Soooooo ... if you're real bored sometime in the next 24 hours, you will remember that these are here, and give them a clicky-clicky now, won't you? That would be so nice!
