Infinitus Poetus Interruptus, Period

What’s left to do 

We never do, 

 

And that’s all 

We ever do, over 

And over 

 

Again, never quite 

Getting over it 

To no good 

 

End. 

 

 

 

 

Lost Cause

Where

 

Our fractured memory finds us 

Gathered on a barren shore 

 

At twilight, trying vainly 

To put the pieces together 

 

Once more, our heads teeming 

With once fanciful images 

 

That have no bearing anymore. 

 

 

 

Pavlovian Poetics

Time to spit it out— 

While you were 

 

Whiling time away trying 

To find those perfect 

 

Aperçus to define a life 

Charmed to the fullest, 

 

The ingredient par excellence that was

Always found to be missing somehow, 

 

Was lollygagging on the tip 

Of a most salivating frazzled tongue.

 

Ode Against Benumbing Ennui

sing  

 

if 

you 

must 

 

sing 

your 

heart 

out, 

 

sing

 

even

though 

you 

don’t 

feel 

 

like 

it. 

 

 

 

 

Stoic Curmudgeon's Dire Prognostication

Nonchalant neophytes, always keep 

Foremost in mind hindsight 

 

Works best when all hope 

For better foresight sucks, 

 

Stuck in the muck 

Of its gutters, 

 

Forever at rest.