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No Thanks Poem
He was a gambler
who had been knocked down by a sizeable margin,
not that his bank account would show low returns.
He was a wealthy man.
Quiet and calculative at the poker table.
Meek and mild in a crowd.
He was an unpopular man.
Slightly overweight and sporting a lumpy tummy,
he was an unattractive man.
Receding hairline. Middle aged.
A smoker short on breath. High cholesterol. No muscles.
He had a very active asthma that would act up should he try to run.
He was an unhealthy man.
He was a target.
He was before he was not.
She sat down across from him at the table.
She is a gambler of sorts. She is quiet, completely silent,
and gives off a supernatural eerie calm
that strikes like sharp perfume at the nostrils.
She's a woman removed, but still relevant to the action.
She's skinny and pale. Blonde hair. Dark eyes. Soft lips. Pretty smile.
She is an attractive woman.
Toned body. Fast reflexes. Observant eyes. Strong for her size.
Lungs that can hold infinite air.
She is a strong woman.
She is a force to be reckoned with.
She is and she will always be.
It happened out in the snow.
He normally parked in the parking garage.
On that day, however, he parked far off from the casino
for no reason in particular. He walked slowly.
He moved timidly,
as he had his whole life through.
She moved briskly. She moved confidently.
She didn't run. She trailed just behind.
He didn't see her. I guess her pale skin
blended in with the snow, or maybe
he just needed new glasses. He got to his car.
He fumbled with the keys. She came up from behind
and knocked him to his knees.
What happened next was not pretty.
The excess blood from his body
seemed cartoonishly bright
as it flowed out form his neck
and soaked into the snow.
It looked like strawberry syrup;
the kind you put on a snowcone.
He was before he was not.
She is and she always will be.
Copyright © No Thanks | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
No Thanks Poem
Got to use that anti-gravitational
hyper beam to draw people in,
only to hide from them everything.
Safety lies in obscurity.
Safety lies, primarily, in not being the same.
It comes for me when I'm indifferent.
I try to treat you the same.
I play the parts.
I say the words.
I have the name.
I, too, have the blood pumping through my
veins-as far as I can tell.
As far as I can tell,
I can't tell you anything.
I don't know about you anything.
Everything is all from my perspective.
I am a human being,
as far as I can tell.
I am a living thing,
as far as I can see.
But how far can I see?
It's all just a sensation.
Life is an animation
of chemicals firing off in your brain.
Who's to say you're fireworks aren't just
playing games?
Feelings are a tricky monster.
Deception can often discard the self.
The ego lurks in the shadows that
consume everything. The fog of war.
The fog of greed. The fog of need.
The fog bleeds on through into everything.
Perhaps I'm just a reptilian
that found some comfortable skin.
Oh, come on, you can't tell me it's all that
alien to feel superficial. Who knows
what you really are? A copy of a copy of a copy
of a genuine thought.
An expression.
An intention.
They seldom coincide.
That's because we're all double agents
working for the other side.
Interdimensional espionage,
or maybe I'm just too proud to say
I'm sorry.
Or, maybe, perhaps, once again, in this
particular case, I am pulling one over on myself.
I feel like it's almost natural to apologize here.
I feel like it's rehearsed though. A copy
of a copy of a copy of a vague notion
of what it might possibly mean to be
genuine.
I play the parts.
I speak the words.
I, too, am an evil dark menace in this
particular instance.
I'm glad you rehearsed forgiveness.
From one reptilian to another,
these human customs make no since to
me. From one fraudulent, rogue, scales under
the skin, to another, these human
costumes we wear frustrate me.
Now, of course, I only mean this half
halfheartedly. That is if I, indeed, mean any of
it, at all, my friend. My friend-alien.
Different. Our history a foreign concept to
me. But, don't worry, I won't try you before
the galaxy for the atrocities of being a co-
conspirator on paper only.
Stealing identities. Useless identities. The
fog of our mutual civility.
Certainly, you feel like you're an esoteric
organism lost in space too.
Copyright © No Thanks | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
No Thanks Poem
If I could have just one object,
one material,
fixed or ethereal,
that material would be you.
But you are immaterial,
and I am you,
but,
then again,
who were you supposed to be again?
If I could have just one thing,
you would be it,
but you are not just one thing,
and that's what depreciates,
that's what taxes,
that's what wanes.
Not having you is what taxes.
It's what fades.
And I don't care to do the charades.
I just want the dance.
Having you is what adds.
Having you is what gains.
But I don't have you,
and I don't want to want to have you,
but I'm afraid that it's true.
As it turns out,
I really want to be with you.
Who is you?
It's a guessing game.
You could be anybody,
but clearly the you, in this case,
is you. And you are not just anybody.
You're not a commodity.
You're not a product.
You're you.
And I'm me.
But why can't we
just be
we?
If I could have just one object,
I would not object to that
object being you.
But you are not an object,
and it pains me that that's true
because I can't control what you do
to me.
You're not an item,
so I can't just steal a copy.
I have to have you
if I want to have you.
No one else will do.
Because it's all about you...
my entire life, in this particular moment,
is all about you
because if there is one thing in this life
that I hold to be true,
it's that I love you.
Copyright © No Thanks | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
No Thanks Poem
He will leave today
when the leaves give way,
ensuring time again
you will be my friend.
Soaking snow in syrup red,
he won't come again.
We are friends again.
Hurt fades to pretty pink
near the gray concrete.
Find death in familiar ways.
Passing. Passing, it's all grave.
Screaming. Silent. Gurgling. Coughing.
Violent and bloody-
disgrace is erased, for silence comes with death.
Copyright © No Thanks | Year Posted 2016
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