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Sunday Poem

The Dark Corners

The Internet is a room
& most of us are still children
who dare not look into the dark corners
when we feel scared, uncertain.
This room is the bedroom
of the schizoid hermaphrodite
of the New Millennium who never stormed
aware from their parents nor speaks
to them honestly or joins them for meals.

The walls are covered here with images
of so many cats, so many pussies,
so many nude forms alone-&-artistic
or sharing in each other for
a few dollars more & the obvious denial
of guilt & embracing of the only pleasure
that the Human will allow.
An opposite wall teems with pictures
upon pictures upon pictures
upon pictures upon pictures upon pictures
until the wall is nothing itself except
the mounded masses
of pleasantries that will not be left behind;
the constant studying of one’s own face
& how it fares in front of a camera,
novels-worth of the cleverly
scribbled ideas of others (le même, le même,
le very same), some memories of who
we used to be & who we used to love,
& the torn out articles that we never
read (never meant to read) but whose
title spoke for us & so we shared it
with everyone, only to learn that it
was only ever for ourselves.

This room is where humanity lives now
& reality here is self-described, self-prescribed,
aware of the I at Thou’s expense
& the achievements of the past
are piled up on the floor
& could used to be given away
to the thrift store, next to
trophies won for no reason,
wadded up tissues (so much coming
these days to tears).  Entire wardrobes
wrap themselves around each other
in unattended bunches, the game of seasons
a ritual from love-of-novelty to self-identification
to acknowledgment-of-the-passé.
The room is a mess, but the room is home
to those who know the outside world
as little more than the laboratory
where data is gathered, the place
where sense-information
is received from random, chaotic
sources, the heaven-or-hell
which sheds light on our own.
We leave the room to do our duties,
to report the days trials & share
a shed of light with the mysterious nobodies
safe with their faces in their books,
in the entropic womb of
the collective consciousness.

And night time comes & the lights go off
& eventually a fuckbuddy mocks you
for the nightlight that keeps dark away

The darkness cannot be willed
away, nor its presence in the room
denied. Under the bed
is an abyss & in the corners
shadows move in shadows
& a familiar creaking downstairs
once again becomes soundtrack
to a nightmare of questions.
The mind gets fraught & frazzled
in the nighttime (at least
we have our drugs to put
us down), the mind makes real
enemies out of only air
& the fear of darkness
& the mind knows so little
about its lack of control
so little about its power
so little about now & sleep
& tomorrow’s anxieties
that denial of everything
is the only way to make the room
safe again before the body sleeps.

We had once believed in a safe
place for everybody, in a shared
home with no need of a shared dream,
in the world of a house
of many rooms, but they built it
on the backs of others & it looks
like the suburbs wasting away
& the million tack-board
houses that will define the Pre-Collapse
era of home construction.
We believed in the world where
the leaders cannot be to blame
because they are pawns in the game
of their own devising
& the rest of us are innocent victims
in a game of hostile history
but we – every one of us –
became aware of our excuses,
our place in the place deeper
than loneliness, deeper than
living within the dream-space
that led us out of the room
& into the light,
into the place
where we do not fear
every night, do not fear closing our eyes
& waking up somewhere
completely different.

Life changes fast but certain things remain.  I have been in a very long season of transition and I am looking forward to things settling down.  One thing that will not change, however, is my crowdsourcing campaign to raise the funds to self-publish my first book of poetry.  Thanks to everyone who has helped out & contributed their well-wishes so far.
Follow this link to help out:  https://www.gofundme.com/themiddlepoems

May your day treat you kindly.
-Daniel

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