Looking at you

Factitious is my heart, by the book
forensic in its nature, calling out
to the one feeding all, and, look:
even the feeble, the low downs, shout:
Take me to that bar and let me go!
This is not what I foresaw and lo
the sky is still in myths of I and here,
the aftermaths and the local sphere.

All is: "I must be seen" and more so, yes,
it is not easy to forge a life or a flow.
All we can trickle or treat we cannot bless,
all is no more or not at all, than the blow
unrestraint can deliver in viewing dogs
running after weight like hungry hogs.
Scratch marks, scars wondering the now,
is all any I can crave or whish for, somehow.

It is all about the dilemma of defeat,
the equation that never quite pans out,
the dreams of reason and a just seat
at the table of the witty and the stout.
Caledonian pipes, Gaelic words around
the intrinsic in the everyday say so,
all maybe's and presumed lost sound,
are no more than I and its where to go.




Poetry by Bob
Read 460 times
Written on 2011-02-14 at 23:15

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