BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

Back to writing ...

Well, there was that matter of just writing 9 things a month through the end of the year (that obsessive-compulsive need to have "even numbers"), but I've just not been "in a writing place" over the past few weeks .... well, I guess that's changed a bit, since I'm back to cranking these out again. I'm still toying with the idea of TRYING to get back to 250 poems a year next year, but that would be quite a jump (from 9 to 21 a month) ... we'll see how January goes, I guess.

By the way, in all the confusion of this month, I fell "off shcedule" for updating the Poetry Site, and while I have almost gotten all the 1997 poems converted over to ascii, I'm a long way from getting the new year up. I'm still hoping that I'll be able to get a year done a month, but it may take me a while to "get up to speed" with that frequency.

                    CAUGHT IN IMMUNE WORLDS

                    descending focus
                    scrambled sight
                    we have no center
                    from which to gauge
                    we have no locus
                    within the grid ...
                    we have mass but not place
                    spin but no charge

                    uncertain flows
                    in aether, time
                    as though redoubled
                    or twisted back;
                    we can not read
                    the pattern there,
                    we can't deduce
                    the meaning in the mode

                    a desperation grips
                    at the isolation here
                    because the outer world
                    does not release
                    or ease its vile demands
                    and we can not synch
                    with the turn of gears
                    of that dire machine

                    no other paths
                    can be unveiled
                    no matter how we search
                    we seem to be
                    cast down to this
                    damned to a world
                    in which we have no function,
                    alien, unwanted

                    all systems here
                    seek to repress
                    our very being
                    as though we infected
                    the sleeping host
                    of the mundane mass
                    which dully acts
                    to eradicate, purge and destroy

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp

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