The Rain-Soaked Beleaguering Thought

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.


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