~But Wait

For the lithe, supple, breathing
a child at play, blends fantastic,
over the falls of words sacraficed...

But wait...

This current of words flows not
but is stopping, being held anon
here, a small pittance with love.

I'm starved instead by such joy,
but would have nothing anyway
but useless hollow flabiness.

3/2008, rjd

~What is HER Problem?

I'm now convinced it matters more
my discontinuous view of amore
not because losing to this flow
happened, but that it won't stop.

The profundity of loss is lost here.
Am I the only victim of this travesty?
Or, as she thought selfishly, suggesting?
Like asking why God kills the innocent!

Past this connumdrum, personal issues
and all... nothing changes this process
where love for me was once continous
stopped, and became solidly discontinuous.

OK, maybe for you it's different,
self-improvement as narrative focus
still remains as gravity for most of us
and yet, what is HER problem?

3/2008, rjd

PS: Unless I offend please understand that what I'm closing here with is a very sketchy (to give perspective to plain I guess) way of expressing feminine dominance as a central and coalescing influence which any story about what would improve being alive necessarily focuses on.

Please don't limit your notion of feminine dominance to some kind of socio-sexual stereotype to avoid the offense. Clearly, this is my assertion about the ISSUE or subject which I'm referring to innocuously yet at the same time saying is singular and continuous among all categorically similar narratives per se, negative or positive.

I wish my thesis wasn't so weakly put, but its a start I think for now .