Get Your Premium Membership

knows nothing more

A woman sitting in an old house herself, counting paper clips. Every day, was a creaking workday that reminded her addiction was in freedom— meanings of being young, being old, being in love with the back then. She’s not a fan of not being a fan of new movies. But who can blame her for blaming herself? A helicopter that flies over the barren desert land to the hospital, where young boys crash motorcycles and old men remember their dead. A wall of silence no longer there signifies hatred now bungled within today. Then you see the age when television is history— not a history channel beyond Hegelians trying to memorize systems to perfection. Inside lost dreams of charities that lost funding—unserviceable minds that lurk in moons trying to be seen without desperation. Desperate to no longer be desperate with sly strokes of sublimation meeting meaning that doesn’t understand yet works very hard to know better— knows nothing more than culminated condensation dripping toward a small valley to move down. Or an activity to sign up for on a schedule at your community center. Bingo! said the American, afraid of being themselves and longs for Paris— mugged on a street with their granddaughter watching, when cops sprang from the doors— nobody was left to watch. —An emotional angst to pull back, a wish for love in pure space-time. An evangelist to tell you what to do, one that is just spiritual with the same frame. I don’t wish for you to drag your breakfast into dinner, or scream water in a lonely sea, where all that is left to do is doing nothing, nothing— Being distant from trees, closer to the bunker. It’s hard to go easy and easier to run, sweeter to give it all away and uglier to be unforgiven by givers. These spirits are also amusement parks who don’t care for safety. If you expect them to wonder, they force you to stare at our sun. If you try to stop, they slowly guide you back without knowledge. Then one day you’re sitting in a basement wondering where all time went, How your body turned— and now all you see is your dead uncle in the mirror.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.


Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry