A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Friday, July 19, 2024

below rock bottom

Fantasy's the thing
we'd never want, because
we can't lack that. 

Anytime in our safe 
space: one mind, no
breaks, no taking back.

It's why it
titillates

us
so,
so
long
we've
had to grow
and know what's hard,
real, right: here right. Then,
Now. We people just become
much more oneself. We go,
unbreaking bow.

It's only death 
of self or soul. 
It's nothing hard.
We rise above who
can't control and what
we fantasize about

is just our fascination with
our best, worst, blest thing 
we don't want:
an empty mouth.

Sad eyes
Your pout 

No vows,
now no. No
promise binds
on future self.

No word for what's so wrong
but "no." 

It's only what we don't allow.
Because we'd never really want 
to groom one's self into brute
beast out hollering
to be

deceased 

Go, horses
groom each
other wild.

Bride and bridle,
friends made hot
to fuss and care
each other's ways. 

It's always someone 
else's party, now! Today!
And that's okay 'cause
ours won't end
until betrayed

by our last friend. 
Until that day
so bright we blink
in sublime pains we shouldn't take,
painstakingly we part, we stake.
We welcome wants we hate to think

We feel we couldn't be so wrong.
And so we're not. 

Though dreamed so long, 
we do wake up. So, 

so long dream.

We couldn't 
really 
want to be 
that thing. 

Below rock bottom we become
what we know we can't
live with
sun

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