On this afternoon's bus, late in the day,
a woman talking to herself
wearing a wig, sitting alone, her eyes
staring straight ahead, remarks:
"Aren't the rhodies beautiful?
They're so late this year."
She's talking to no one,
no one sits beside her.
Everyone around her is absorbed
in something else.
Beautiful flowers are nothing new;
rhodies
come out every year.
Her neighbors are busy, or pretend to be.
Something has caught their gaze
in the daily tabloid. The local
family newspaper. Some headline
about some war or other.
Some local dead
hero. Or other.
Something unconnected to the rest
of this day.
The daily's profit depends
on its base readership. The readers have decided
the formula.
I start to say something supportive
out of pity
but catch myself. I see this
every day: People talking to themselves,
at a loss,
riding buses. The skills they were born with
detached like the clouds floating overhead.
It's a marvel how we survive;
or that we even know for sure
that we do.
I watch them every day
riding the No. 9. The buses like
clockwork.
Poetically cryptic through demented dementions of the
Autistic degree that I imply.
Prone to be known by my own wicked complexity of
Direct dialect at full effect in intellect and equally wize.
Unto realistic mystic statistics of eternal constricted
Conflicts that I contradict to depict.
My words I predict are meant to be sadistically
Simplistic with psychedelic visions that I outwardly inflict
I’m intuiting as a poet for all who don’t yet know it,
For my creativity remains infinite.
I decypher mixed thoughts from emotions that are
Intwined and combined with vengeances abnormally explicit.
I cause twists of chaotic confusions to self created
Illusions that I primitively express.
Every imagined idyllic theme are motives that I write
From memory relics intended to suggest.
Through every stage of my complex poetry I feed my addictions
As they were deseased with toxic air that I breathe with
Eager need to please.
This is my nature of thy mental state of autism that
Is of every intrigued degree. Indeed!
Tiny
Cozy
Safe
Self Person, mandate
Survival Possible
Good People
Rebellious
Real
No given to conformity
Sometimes scary
Always real
Home
What happened to please, thank you,
excuse me and I’m sorry?
Please pass the mustard,
Please pass the custard.
At my table, Mom and Dad gave me a full belly
Though sometimes it was peanut butter and jelly
Thank you, Mom and Dad for agrat meal
Should be paid more fr such a big deal.
Thank you, Mom and Dad for nourishing me,
While at home, I never wanted to flee
Excuse me, Dad, for not mowing the lawn on time
I was only thinking how to spend my last dime
Excuse me, Dad for thinking of liquidity
Your love showed me how to avoid stupidity
I’m sorry, Mom and Dad
For not always making you glad.
I’m sorry that I didn’t learn fast
But you taught me to forget the past.
"Uniquely flagrant as labeled"; default promulgated in
Shame I’ve contended with purpose as consented.
I never relented to reverse the insanity that I’ve
Gained in a life gone demented, broken and dented.
Through my elapsed constant contorted frame of mind
Of twisted knots, are those that bind.
Combined and entwined in insults while permanently
Insignificant to everyone as I’ve become undone.
I’m not worth a single value of a penny, zero, zilch, nor
Even less than the sum of none.
I’ve been double-crossed and blind-sided by my image that
Displays pent up rage in silent ways.
My world I envision has been a wicked reality made up
By a cruel cliché.
My mirror complex of vile intents fades from views by
Segregated sections to each disconnection.
To my many flaws of imperfections have resulted in
Lost unresolved affections.
My empty being has been forever forsaken and rendered
condemned.
Lost to a world where I’m running from something where
There will never be an end.
Brittle thoughts have embedded deep inflictions in my
mind that’s set to collapse as it falters.
Through my desperate attempt to correct the concept
I’ve impaired relativities that have been altered.
Through endless mistakes that I retain to claim as I
Protect the portrait I blame without a name, "I’m still the same."
Nothing no longer matters as nothing’s gained except
When I’m conceiving inward pain.
I hide within myself as my mind is used to abuse
By self-destructive tendencies without intention to prevent.
I stand at fault inside my thought chamber where
I’m sealed in by cement of prefabricated sediment.
I purposely separate my world from normal life as I
Intentionally attempt to disconnect.
At the same time I torture myself in sheer
Discipline for personal effect by all aspects.
Dying while thriving I’m drowning in my own caused
Effect of faulted neglect by all ways and means.
The insanity exists and is written inside with
Intent to end this deed as it bleeds…
Such lonely nights
Backed into a corner
These hands are going out to you
My way is always the harder
Your hands are all the help I need
Set in my ways
This road is getting darker
My eyes struggle to see yours
No way to get where I am going
How long before I reach this end
But its mercy and the strength of a brother
That I'll rely upon and learn how to trust
And given all this hope
Through all these times of grief and sorrow
I know I'm not alone
To live to die or to die to live
The Convict, dignified and convinced
As days go by, and as one wants to be
Gentle, kind and uncertain
Certain of struggles within
Within uncertainty of hope
So, be as to be
Do, as you do
And live as to FREE...