Nigel's stupid poetry thread

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I will try to keep this spaggotry contained here.




The idea of stopping loving him
impossible, like stopping breath
or stopping rain, or the sunrise
or the coming of winter. I flow
with the cliches of endings.

I know it will happen anyway,
the stopping. It's time itself, this
process of cessation. It ends.
Weeks later, it will seem to ease
with the agony of breathing in.

Moments and then minutes
and hours will go by, without
thinking of the empty of missing;
him. Who is only another animal
made of fluid held within skin.

The private jokes and the plans
and the ideas of art and the close
moments we shared will all fade
and in time, again, just as it did
once before; will become simpler.

And I will stop. The circles, secrets
the minute intimate understandings
will all fade into distant obscurity
and someone else will come along.
I will share my weakness, and laugh.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I sit on my front porch
and I light a cigarette.
I try to sing for you but
my head is empty of song.
My time for you is gone
and I can no longer instill
that hope, and the want
into my voice or my cry.
My former desire has gone
awry from where I longed.

The well from which you
used to spring has run dry,
is now a wall of rocks, a
ring wherein nothing rises.
This circle which could be
a home is instead a tomb,
a litany of can-not-have, a
tome of imperfect endings.

I hate this word processor.
It turns my poetry into a
study on perfect grammar.
You cling to the devil to whom
you think you have sold your
soul, and in the meantime
leave your spirit to bend
and twist in the wind you
made in your passing by.
Foolish, I wait for it to wake.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

The quality of the loneliness is different now,
because I had a kind of understanding with him.
It's like speaking a language nobody else speaks,
that has words for different ideas; even though
you learn the language of people around you,
you always feel a little foreign. You get used to it,
so that it doesn't seem bad or even, usually,
all that alone. But then you meet someone
who speaks your native language, and you feel
like you can fully communicate for the first time.
It's not until they go away that you discover
what it really feels like to be lonely.