Thursday, October 21, 2010

That’s not how it goes.
Your version paints no such enticing rose
And less emotion, the dreariness to sow

No one dotes on being wrong
but your truth is cold and impotent
woe unto you defiled foe

Karma of consequence. You know?
No, you wouldn’t know, would you?
I suppose you’d like to

Know how I saw him squirm
in a squirmy way he’s never squirmed for those who elude
so wonder away
weak minded fabrication ensues

the curiosity cripples you so
asphyxiation to the overcut throat
all of your meritless glory went to feed his gloat

spawned by impaired sages
that’s why you revisit these aggrieved pages
come lurking to the mermaid's show
these spells summon you like my dear unfavorable ghost

life demote
I’ll leap from the trusty tank that keeps me captive
(discreetly I like the glass so close)
you'll edge off as I fail and scream
portray a distraught and hapless dream
give way, idle musings the flesh born want to know

But I didn’t come to grant a fraction of disposable dignity
I'll tie no such sin to thee
And you’ll never know how far he really went with me
Cause I’m just visiting
They tagged me over 4 years ago
a spy to do God’s gentle listening
rightly sow...aye justice is slow
although sometimes gentleness and justice is like a nail
A displaced wren on a crow’s watch rail
watching the lingering meteor show

My mornings are like a honey hive
but the bees bustle far more organized and alive
Unless living means a life of torrential cries
another noon nap, my resolve divides

I can’t take anyone else’s seriousness seriously
for they are only serious about themselves
frequencies of fret
percussion of a material wishing well
future of a self-imprisoned hell
the mecca I carry
in this story only my eyes can tell

the archangels haven’t fallen
they visit me though
drape me in sheer veils of hope
asking, imposing
vital questions worthy of Mary’s knowing
have you gotten enough praise and acceptance yet?
How’s the satisfaction in your concealment?
did it cover the cost of your debt?
You better get enough money to forget
the times Jesus got your feet wet

it appears mine never dry
with each cross I meet next
puddle of your love
baby of rainy death

(c) Jessica Robbins

No comments:

Post a Comment