October Ryan's Blog: The Blog of October Ryan

Oligarchical onlookers

Judge a long-abandoned hooker

Once purebred to breed

But with no seed

For past imperfect days.

As provisional affection

And a vision of rejection

Hold the labrador

From wanting more

Of what? She can not say.

The enigmatic engram

Of the circumstantial feeling

Has long since gone,

The paragon

Of past imperfect days.

Material replacements

Linger endlessly adjacent

To the burning core

Of wanting more

Of what? She can not say.

The ignorant distractions

Built a lifetime of inaction

That was thrust upon

A marathon

Of past imperfect days.

Futile hopes for future exits

From the longing in her chest have

Built a levee

For a bevy

But of what? She can not say.

Tales of tepid, tranquil waters

Told to truly desperate daughters

Not allowed to be

The she they’d see

In past imperfect days

Are now desiccated bodies

With no elements for poppies,

Long bereft of life

And haunted by,

By what she can not say.

An alabaster

Pal or bastard

Who can ever tell

When our maladaptive

malefactors

Look like someone else

Wonderberry wonders and an

Army filled with time

What about their pantheon of

Shady sinful knights

The suicidal

Pseudo-cycles

That we all design

The ill-reputed

Institutions

We all hide behind

Womanizing whispers and an

Air of tortured love

What about their marathon of

Staying on their thrones and fucking

Freedom

And not the bullshit kind

With owners free to beat their slaves

And slaves feel free to hide

Liberty

From all these bullshit lies

Where the people are free to be who they are

And the monsters forced to hide

Watercolor wisdom

That’s so quickly washed away

What about the weary whites

Who’ve long since had their day

An end in sight

Inside a mind

Not ready for

The finish line

Just one last chorus

Perhaps one more is

All I’ll need

Hope what I see

Is only the penultimate

If this is the end

I won’t ever get over it

A fate foretold

A fearful start

A final form

A forlorn heart

Just one more chapter

To hope for after

All I’ll lose

Hope that you

Were only my penultimate

If you are my end

I won’t ever get over it

Entrenched in rights that might go wrong

Adrift in endless epilogues

Resist the kiss of final frogs

The end will never come

If I simply choose to run

A race worthwhile

Not from but to

Not next to last

Just next to truth

Just one more act

And maybe one more after that

All I need

Hope you see

Me bask in the penultimate

This won’t be the end

My life isn’t over yet

I know this will only be

The penultimate

Forty years of fetal placement

Abandoned in the blades of grass

For me there is no free engagement

Each encounter has a cost and I pay what they ask

All I’ve known is olive parchment

Sacrifices freshly slain

To inspire works of art when

All I want is to get lost inside the simple and mundane

But I can’t

“Cause I’m the other

The one unfit

To be a lover

Or a fighter

Or a friend

The one

No one

Lets in

The sheep are sheepishly engaged with

Shepherds shepherding their moves

How else should they behave when

Any stray is quickly caught and harshly punished for their truths

A few outliers found escape when

Their pack was starting to align

But now they dream of being lost

Among the carbon copy herd they’ve learned gets all attentive eyes

“Cause no one sees the other

It’s not easy

To recover

Who’s lost their way

The ones

No one

Will play with

Will laugh with

With wide open hearts

The ones we all ignore

The ones we tear apart

How many years of this do I have left

Of never knowing I belong

If I’ll always be the other

What’s the point of being hopeful, brave, and patient, or strong

I can not see another

Way to be

Besides the other

That is me

The one

No one

Lets in