huxley’s newest trick…

Another re-publish. (Sorry, new stuff coming soon, trying to rescue some poems that got little to no attention.) Org. post TFBP as always.
—————————————

carisoprodol

can’t keep these eyes
from folding up stakes.
they don’t wanna work
anymore than i do.

ain’t much in the
way of time-lag;
just down the downs,
the deed is done.
fight as hard and
as long as you see fit;
it won’t matter;
you’ll lose.

for those of us
looking for a way out
of an overly
micromanaged existence,
it’s as easy as
mixing the correct
chemicals
in the correct order.
the amounts involved
matter somewhat less;
the more the merrier,

soon you’ll be working
very hard to keep
one eye in focus,
everything else moving around
in random walks,
or sparks and light.
an understatement;
focus isn’t what it was
just a little while ago.

talking in gibberish,
you exhaust the last
reserves of energy
from your soulful
one-ness with the world
around you. everyone
who isn’t there
but should be laughs,
and in the commotion
laughter falls apart into
component smiles
which dissolve into
quizzical looks at the rug.

sleep will take you back
to where you started.
some indeterminate period
of time ago
and empry bottles your only
notation.

with reconstruction
impossible,
you just have to enjoy the ride.
you won’t remember it
anyway,
it’s easier than you think
to let it all slip away,
rape your own mind
and spirit and suck
the last bits of marrow
from the bone.

with any luck at all,
there’ll be some sunlight and
statutory acceptance
in the future
of the past. the
choice is always yours,
even if the influence ain’t,

there will be time to talk later.
for now, fracture is the farthest thing
from our minds, must be
something she said.

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About Caribbean Fool

Greetings from the lunatic fringe, and don't worry. Save for the occasional spasmodic moment of thoughtful pretension, it's mostly chaos here (in the technical sense of the term, not the fucked-over-misbegotten-suburban-punk-dystopic-fantasy.) Complete with iced-tea over ice in a plastic mug with the word "disharmonious" written on the side in black permanent marker that somehow managed to smear, The Fool's Back Pocket is the online home for all of the Fool's various writings, ravings, poetry, rantings, and the like. Visitors are always appreciated, as are any and all comments, complaints, back-handed compliments, criticisms, etc. Foolish Consolidated Poetic Industries (the parent company that funds & oversees all editorial concerns here at TFPB) takes a pretty hard-line stand against censorship, and I'm not one to ruffle any feathers back at the home office. I'm not going bullshit you; there is occasional profanity and some abhorrent subject matter. Of course, that is to be expected amongst the warm-belly glow of prescient omnidirectional wanderings cataloged in various ways. To save you the trouble, a brief explanation. The name 'Fool' is not a name at all, rather an excuse for all kinds of kinetic exploration. It has been famously asked "What's in a name?" The answer, in my case, is that a name can be anything and everything. I'm the kind of guy who enjoys all that a permanent and irrevocable excuse has to offer by engaging all manner of strange & reactionary discretion's, behavior, etc. However far-reaching the consequences (not very far to be honest) it seems only fair to take a detached if somewhat relaxed attitude towards all things & see what happens. Usually it turns into a poem, sometimes other varieties of linguistic jujitsu. I also love fried calamari, Canadian singer-songwriters & conch fritters. Now I will take a few questions. Q & A Q. Why poetry? A. Same reason as anything else; I couldn't think of a good reason not to write poetry. Q. Who is Marshmellow Trowell? A. An imaginary character known for his love of aggrandized vice, violence, serving as an occasional whipping boy when I require an 'uninterested third party' to verify, recommend, or take the blame depending on what exactly hasn't gone according to plan. Not to be taken seriously, but useful in the same way straw-man arguments can compliment a grossly misanthropic relationship to reality. Q. You can't seriously expect anyone to believe that. Would you care to clarify your answer? A. No. Q. What do you do besides write? A. I also read. Q. Uh, thanks? Anything else? A. I spend a lot of time avoiding responsibility for things I am not always sure I did. My rationale; I don't own any property or have any money. This is the only part of the American Dream (tm) I've had the chance to participate in. Although, now that I think about it, I did vote a couple of times. Didn't seem to change much of anything, surprisingly enough. I've since given up politics & taken to studying various financial markets with an idea to corner the orange juice futures market by aligning myself with global warming (but only from an ideological standpoint; for once I'm gonna be on the winning team.) Feel free to address any other questions to thefoolsbackpocket@gmail.com. Thanks in advance for reading and take it easy, at least while you're here. Shit, if everyone took it easy, most of our problems as a species would probably still be the same but nobody would mind nearly as much. A kid can dream...
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2 Responses to huxley’s newest trick…

  1. Thatsa soma gooda poetry…Teehee. Great stuff. I get it….Well crafted and clever description. Well done.

  2. Thanks kindly for reading.

    crb.

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