Cast away in the forgotten potful of moguls
is the instantaneous forget-me-not of the beleaguered fault
fought in many theaters
sown in many gardens
Collected in all of the conceivable
blasphemous portholes of pitiful pooh
is the injunction of society’s forgotten wistful of thought.
Sitting at the top of the ladder
blaming anyone but itself
calling for vengeance and still hoping for none
is the outrageous eagerly awaited omnipotent self
Deeply in it’s dungeon
seeking for release
sought after for its malicious wealth
is the seething suture of society’s pitfalls of flying ogres.
They never knew what hit them
they walked a thousand miles
They sat stunned while it rained upon them
and neither of them flinched an eye or
batted a wink or slept until the sun dried
the wishful thinking of their thoughts.
No, it never occurred to them at all
how the incantations followed
or how the rusted wood piled upon it still
and no one gives a shit.
But I know what happened.
I called them up and there was no reply.
It all seemed to matter not for any of the
inconspicuous thinking they did not avail themselves of.