The rogue transcendentalist. Solidarity isn't the trick.

This isn't what I really call poetry, but more so... a collection of thoughts. Random thoughts minced from scribbles of so long ago, somewhat merged into one piece. I don't really TRULY know how a poem should be, but nevertheless this is a rambling production.

- - - - -


"Break-wall-shatter,
stones of glitter and ice."

I've used that metaphor all too often
to head me in "vultur-ific" circles
that are cast overhead in my
brain.

Mallets might do the trick;
but what's enough to break The Wall?
The barriers are ESPECIALLY thick
(made of sturdy steel).

I've said it before:
glass porcelain is easy to shatter,
but not encased in dead sycamore.

Stop your dancing, you drama queen:
Get out of that dream box and learn a new tango or two.

This is not poetry.
(I repeat: this-is-not free verse anymore.
Only structured,
perfect rhythm.
For once, maybe, you should just go along
and disappoint Thoreau.)

I am not,
I will not,
complain.

The situation room.

Let's start the debate:

I'll be an axon,
and you'll be the brain.
And we'll duel
(to a certain extent).

Conscience says:
"Hear me,
hear me.
You're the good girl;
now do as I say and get drunk
on sodium-potassium waves
raging through your vulnerable bones.
Your spinal cord is mine."

Heart says (meekly and soul-driven): i dun haf ta lissen ta yah blasfemic propeganda alla des wurds alla deese dots dey are HEART-drivin--MINE for da keepin'.

(and, from heaven descents, an Eagle of tumored proportions
perching on the pedestal with defiant radiance and quiet,
yet entrenched, Position! Authority! Ethos!)

He said to the duelists (strictly and hopefully as a MEDIATOR):
" 'Relax,' said the wise man.
Approach with rationality,
but abandon practicality
if your fight ends to the
death. And when all
other things fail,
choose wisely."

......

Alas, my friends. The duel is on, but the flame isn't extinguished.
The torch is burning and running nationwide.
The battle isn't ending. It runs in circles and circles.
When will it end? This debate?
Oh, how I hate arrogant competitors.

if i could choose anything,i'd say you were a magician.you give the "illusion of truth",masked with a wonderful disguise.how wise of you.and if i could choose anything,i'd say i'm the invisible man...maybe i can get close,but i choose not to.there's still a barrier between meand all the others.i often hide and shy away,and i don't know why(even though i'd be happier if i didn't).introverted tendencies, i guess.but it makes me feel so selfish.(and it's all for the wrong reasons.)i should feel ashamed, maybe.but it's the disconnection thathardens up my heart.

i'm crawling in Fairydust,
Apprehended by the scent of my
Tall cigar,
wondering and waiting for the day
he'll smile,
(as i'm)
wailing on my sailboat
for luxury suites,
and bars.




Love handles.

Zelig (song lyrics)

Your eloquence amazes me;
fancy diction.
Structured vocab.

Who are you?

A human chameleon,
you adapt to change,
but you're never the same.

Simple conversation isn't so bad.
You seem the same,
for the most part anyway. But...

Who are you?

A human chameleon,
you adapt to change,
but you're never the same.

I fell in love at first sight,
but was it all a facade?

A facade, a facade.
Too many faces,
too little traces
of a genuine soul.

Who are you?

A human chameleon,
you adapt to change,
but you're never the same.

Talking about a certain someone I used to have a crush on in high school. But this can apply to almost anybody who acts differently in front of different audiences (I would say that everyone does this, including myself). Zelig is the name of a Woody Allen film about a man who is a "human chameleon" and changes physically (and perhaps mentally?) in accord to the people he is around. I never watched it, but I want to.