This Pretentious Love

Love was, nothing more, than playing pretend.  It was, quite easy, actually, we just, told ourselves, over and over, again, and again, that this nonexistent love is actually, in existence, and, after enough number of times, this lie that we made for ourselves to live in became, TRUE!

it’s, like this, you only THINK you know what she’s thinking but, you actually, don’t have a C-L-U-E!!!  Not my picture…

This pretentious love, that we’d, come to share, we’d both became, too comfortable, living in it, that we didn’t want to, change anything about it, knowing, that it’s all, play pretend (like playing house???), and, we’d gotten, used to, lying to ourselves, that this so-called nonexistent love, actually DOES, exist…

This pretentious love, why, do we lie to ourselves over it, huh?  There must be, better options out there available for us both, there’s, NO need, to keep this, pretentious love intact anymore, and, I’m, severing, the ties here.

left, with the broken pieces…not my photo…

This pretentious love is, NO more, I’d, taken it out back, and, PUT it out of its misery, with that shotgun, as, there’s, just NO need, for us, to keep on, dragging it along, lengthening, its, sufferings, it’s NOT humane, don’t you know???

And now, after we’d, given this, pretentious love its, proper burial, it’s time, we finally, stopped pretending, that we still, loved one another, it’s time, that we move on too, like this, pretentious love already had………








Disaster, a Poem

The poet described the process, of something awful happening, without ever, mentioning it in name, that, is the creative agency, of the poet, translated…

I’d Once, Carried My Pocket-Full of Desires

Stood on the Pigeon Colored Earth

Fought Hard, Against the Blood-Colors of the Setting Sun

A Tree Walked Away, the Words from the Tips of the Branches

Came Out of Nowhere, the Wooden Roofs

With Nothing on and Around it, Caused the Snow to Fall

The Disaster Was, about to Occur………

The Awful of Life, Soaked Up, in the Wheat Processors

The Ducks, Squatted by the Ponds

Drowned to Death, by the Autumn

I’d, Held My Breath in, Swallowed that, Imaginary Sake Down

The Ghetto of 52nd Street, with the Fumes Rising Up

I’d, Angrily, Stepped Down on My Bladder, My Heart Which Were

About to Explode, Like How an Angry Child, Had Trampled on the Mother’s Face

With Anger, with Grace, Not Asking Anything in Return

The Elderly Beggar Approached Me Today

He Sat in My Shadow

Like a King, on that Black Velvet Carpet

Anyone Who’d

Extended a Hand, with the Palms, Grasping at Nothing

But a Bundle of Yellow Roses

Making Me, Purified………

There Shouldn’t be, Too Much Discussion on Postures of Sitting

I’d Ordered Up a Coffee, Doughnut, and Cigarettes at the Café

Like a Healthy Insurgent

An Optimistic Enemy

I’d Even, Turned Myself into a Book

In a Warehouse, Telling Those Stories, Beneath

The Drunk’s Pillow

The Chapter You’re, Currently Reading Over

So, this, is what disaster felt like, there’s no concrete “evidence” of something bad that’s happened, but, with the descriptions, you can guess, that something AWFUL had, or was about to, happen……

The Side of You, that Nobody Sees…

There’s, that side of you, that nobody sees, but me, but WHY me, huh?  Why do I have to be the one, who deals with that ugliest side of you, that you’d, not shown, to anybody ELSE?  And, where was it written, that I must, take everything that’s BAD, that you’d, thrown at me, huh?

not my artwork…

The side of you, that nobody sees, because you were, too afraid, to show that ugly side of you self, to anybody else, but, you’d, shown it, to me!  The side of you, that nobody sees, it’s, yearning, to get noticed, by others, but, each and every single time it tries to take over, you’d, suppressed it down, deeper, deeper, deeper, into the abyss of your minds.  You’d, refused, to give that side of you, that nobody sees, any “face time”, because, you’re, afraid…of what?  I’d, wondered………

The side of you, that nobody sees, I see him, and, strangely enough, I’d, accepted him as is, damaged, broken, incomplete, and still, loved that side of you, that nobody sees just the same, and because of my kindness, you’d, abused me with it!

Now, that side of you, that nobody sees, will, always, live in the darkness, it will, NEVER show itself, as I’d, stopped myself, DEAD in my TRACKS.  Gotten THAT much-needed wake-up call now, don’t you know…







Drought, a Poem

What sort of a legacy do you want to leave behind?  Translated…

Before the Lights Turned Off for Good I’d Climbed onto the Windowsills

Started, Measuring the Droughts of the World, with the Echoes of My Nightly Pacing

now, imagine this, as the human psyche, doesn’t look good, does it????  Of course N-O-T!

Until My Insomnia Made its Escape, from Macondo

Until that Distant Small Black Town, Started Raining the Black Rains

Until Those Suicidal Rain Drops’ Songs of Unreal Reality

Became the Paces You were Making, as You, Hurried on

Inside My Quilt, Where it’d Started Raining the Black Rains

Until the Water Flooded into My Heart, I Was Finally, Able to Sleep Deeply, Being Drowned

Contemplating How I’d Waken, Unwillingly, a Couple of Centuries Later

In that Never-Ending, Boundless Morn

Your Kiss Was Away from Me Now, with the Cigarette Like a Psychosis, Stuck on Me

Becoming, a Wasted Tenant Inside My Oral Cavities

So Full of Spirit, Like the Maggot from a Wound

It’d Spoken, in Such Extinct Language:

That the World’s Seasons of Rain is You, that You are, the Seasons of Rain for Me

Becoming Wide Awake is a Boring Thing

The Desert with the Droughts, Built Up its Mirages

Before I Was able to See it Clear, There were Still, Echoes of the Ice Age from My Tears

Bored to the Point, I’d Started, Counting Up the Cracks

Like, You Were, Hidden Behind the Symbols Like a Prophecy

it’s going to take a whole LOT more than just a little rain, to quench THis “thirst” all right!  Not my photo…

Several Times, I’d, Almost Severed Off My Own Head, Begging for the Downpour to Come

My Loneliness Danced that Offering Dance

It Seemed, Next to Impossible, to Get Rid of that Sense of Brokenness of March

But, I’d Become Willing, to Be, a Tearless Desert

And, Made up My Mind, Never to Return to Underneath Quilt, with the Black Rains Pouring Down on it

With My Dreams in the Swamps

Although Your Sense of Humor Still, Reflected, in the Black Dead Waters

rain  的圖片結果feels a WHOLE lot cooler instnatly, doesn’t it???  Photo from online…

The Corpses of the Driftwood, Still Noted the Histories of Your Sound Sleep

So, Just Lay Me Out, Under the Scorching Sun and Blind Me Then

Until the Sun Baked Those Words into Gold

Until Time Fell, Out of Carelessness, from the Equation of Eternity

Then, I will Be able to, Relay the News of My Death, with

Full Expectation, in Your Dampened Path

When the World Became, Devoid of Meaning

After Centuries of Unimportant Means

My Inhale & Exhale Would’ve, Proven Meaningless to This World

You May Then, be Able to Hear, Those Cries Unrelated to Me

And, as the Pouring Rain at My Funeral Helped the Growth of the Green Long Hair of My Plains

Perhaps, You May be Able, to Keep Track of It, with Your Nomadic Footprints

So, this, is on the meaning of one’s death to someone else, it’s about, the legacy you wish to leave behind, and, it’s something, that we should all, start thinking about, because, we will all, eventually, DIE (that, would be a FACT!), and, what sort of a legacy do you want to leave for your children, grandchildren, great grandchildren?

The Night Train Home, a Poem

There’s that hint of, wanting to come home, and yet, there’s also, that I want to get away in this, translated…

Those Wandering Faces Looked Up at the Time Tables in the Train Stations

Those Tramping Shoes, Carried the Bodies, Entered

Into that Final Train

like this???  Picture from online…

At This Time, the Heart Can, Finally Rest

I am, the Moonlight, on the Return

Shivering, Against the Glass Windows of the Moving Trains

Peeping at the Shadows, Taking Over the Seats

How Were There, Two

Two Stiffened Bodies

I am the Light-Yellow Moonlight

Speaking to the Shadows, “I am a Classmate

From Your Middle School Years (the Instructor Spoke in a Combination of Taiwanese & Chinese, His Descent Was China, Can You Understand It?)

“The Big Guy Was Also, a Classmate of Your Middle School Class”

One of the Bodies, Was Me

the only one moving is you…photo from online…

“Meeting Someone I Knew on a Train to Elsewhere”,

That, Was How It’d, Felt, Seated at, the Two Seat in the Trains

“The Instructor Always Started the Class by Stating How He Originated from China, Can You All Understand Me?”

He’d Tried, His Hardest, to Speak in a Language that We Can Understand

As His Successor, You’d Worked, Even Harder

As the Train Passed Through the Cold Nights

The Moonlight & the Hatred All Turned into Frost

You are My Very Best Friend Back in Middle School

So, You’d, Shown Up, at the End of My Journey

You and I, Leaned Against Each Other

Shoulder to Shoulder, Becoming Wings

like this???night train animation 的圖片結果animation from online…

You and I, Returned with One Body, Back Home

The Frost-Bitten, Cracked Web on the Windows of the Trains

Became Like a Map We Traveled Together by

At the Terminal Station

Becoming that Stained Wet Moonlight onto the Seats

So, there’s, that strong sense of solitude, riding on this train toward home, and, maybe, the narrator knew what’s waiting for him back home, that, was why, he was, lingering on in the trains…

Slowly, Understanding What it Meant, to Be, D-E-A-D…

to have arrived is to die I have since surrounded myself with cut-out cardboard reconfigured with no particular preference staples and tape to ward off the hatred a color completely devoid of vindictiveness the windowless model is quite suitable for I have not the time to look up and ahead I am far too caught-up […]

via Preoccupation — Max Meunier