dull headache

my bed to make

when all emotion and tasks

seems phony and fake

things I have to do

that just don’t seem true

all the just causes come at a cost

even when you know in advance they are lost

full stop

the surreal sunny day mocks

and seemingly only money can talk

while this bull shit poem may only walk

but what is there to save

cause all intentions good or bad

ultimately end

in the grave

all structures lead to ruin

empathy where is thy sting

hark the herald angels


prophesy says the antichrist

we will soon anoint

just before we reach the apocalyptic

vanishing point





Always obey the Lord of Small Tasks, sitting around in your gaunch moaning poor me will not improve anything.


For instance this morning I awoke at 05:30 hrs. and should have had a small snack and then departed on my morning ride.

Instead I had a raging migraine and the bright light of the dawn was like having nails hammered into my head.


Instead of sucking it up and ignoring the pain I lapsed into a “poor me” mode and after composing and posting the Vanishing Point went back to bed. Expect many revisions of the poem because its one that’s been on the back burner for a couple of years and is somewhat mediocre in its present form.


Came to, after a fitful sleep and decided to give myself a kick in the butt and get moving. So have cleaned up my body, washed my dishes. cleaned up my washroom emptied the trash, put everything in its correct place, resisted the urge to turn on the idiot box and now feeling much better typed out this addendum




One response to “VANISHING POINT

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