counterentity devoting every fiber,
day and night,
to a cause
partly my own,
partly that of a generated monster.

and all the while,
wondering if it's a cause worth working for.
p2 if i ever write a book
the dedication will read:

"To you, for buying this book.
And if you didn't,
Don't you feel guilty now?
Guilty enough to buy the book?"
lycanthrope "whose absence is felt daily"

this is the line,
we skip over on the cards
before we sign them,
like the small print
we know is going to hook
us and so don't linger on.

and it's an expansive
phrase as far as small print

perhaps ghosts
are that absence we feel
because it seems concrete
as if it is looming
haunting us
like an endless song
without a chorus
always building never arriving
the way people pass
you on the street
and aren't your lover,
not yet,
and then are gone.

it's so easy to see
it there in my father's
chair that used
to creak late at night
after he was home for
work, sitting palatably.
it used to exhale
the official end
of waking time,
his old friend
who seems now a god
going on without,
never knowing how much
it was to him or me,
all of these things.
anyways, silence is its new master.

and the kids you see
in high school
and college,
first love glimmers
going out of their eyes
signalling that they're
ripe for the glorious
tomorrow of humankind.

most childrens world's
are filled with
melancholic monsters
and farcical angels,
deals are made
that most adults
will never understand
because the file
is labeled, and empty.

no one ever asks the
kids if they miss them
when they say get
ready for this important
world of counting
and gathering,
and you should never
leave any lose ends.
no one ever asks them
which world they prefer.

eventually everyone
you know dies,
like the war veteran
down the street,
you go to put on your
shoes and both are
there, but you only
have one leg,
because the daily world
will assume you're full
and whole and won't
stomach otherwise.
and he is a nice man,
his love is sincere,
but only as sincere as
his half-hearted smile.

you feel the absences,
untill the absence
is of the feel
and then eventually
you are the absence.

it's like coming home
and forgetting the alarm
was set,
and it's crying and moaning
like a baby
waiting for its mother to return
but there is no guarantee,
it could just be resounding
to nothingness,
and indeed,
it slowly, more everyday

this is the end of all things.
stork daddy every war has a comical ending somewhere. 040430
Syrope it was like a memorial for someone i'd never met. he really was a completely different person around me than his friends, but neither the person i knew nor the person his friends knew was spoken of today. i refused to go look through his pictures. i want to remember the baby pictures i saw at his house the first time i went, and i want to remember him the way i saw him at the last apo meeting. that's all. i'm so glad i went though. it was all worth his mother's hug. she was the same wonderful person i knew before, same warmly sarcastic tone through the sadness. i hated to see her sad. i hope she understands. as a woman, she should. as a mother, i'm afraid i'll never know how she feels. 040430
heartfeltsuperego of self to the divinity inside oneself.
While not self-worship, it occupies a thin line between deflating and heating the ego.
Let us dedicate token honours to ourselves - to the divine light(s) within us that may once acknowledged illuminate our collective consciousness.
I wish you love.
Doar I am always in awe of the storkman. Just reading his prose.....freakin hell....lyrical to everyone.

what's it to you?
who go