TOO MUCH GONE WRONG
1
unexpected loss
falls into an absence
which we can't defray;
intent falters
beneath the blows
of these inabilities
and the mass
of too much gone wrong
2
only portions bide
against the dark,
we are scattered, shattered,
splintered and unwhole,
yet we continue,
flesh on vectors,
far from oblivion
no matter the decay
3
we watch the cycles
of the aeon
as they spiral,
sink and spin,
tornadic flowings
into depths,
the downward focus
of the age
4
seconds into minutes,
minutes into hours,
hours into days,
days into weeks,
weeks into months,
months into years,
each collects corruption
and accumulated pain
5
nothing good, then
is unveiled
with each dawning,
each newborn day,
just survival
and sensate input,
more despairing
and crueler ache
- Brendan Tripp
09/27/2004
Copyright © 2004 by Brendan Tripp
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I actually have sort of been intending to have some new stuff for y'all ... I mean, I've stuck a spare piece of paper in my pocket when heading out the past few days, but have never quite hit that "itch" to write, so you'll just have to deal with "old" stuff for the moment. (sigh) Back in the day when I was writing 250 poems a year, I was driven about writing (OK, maybe "obsessive" is a better word) ... I feel like such a slug under the new "who cares if I write?" mind-set!