[Bet]ter [pre]{sent}: “Listen to me, Babe!”

He never was a betting man;

yet risk’s become a fearless fact.

An act not necessarily seen out

there, nor [difficult-

{ed]-

u-

kated} by women mainly – men like in

an Ibsen play don’t appear but

do figure, yup they sure do: offstage moments of

real drama that drone us into

encroaching

submitting, and remitting to things

we thought we

knew well: and what a hell is this “how”

and “why”.

 

 

And so he readies himself, slowly but

sure, to release himself

as only he could

have: the years he has spent in the arms

of this love; arms like bloody pincers

of sideways [c{(g)rab}], where

everything’s sucked up through a

mariner’s vortex [vile-

{(re)lent]-

ing} – quite never absolute:

never giving up, giving way nor

giving in: a sin of exclusion;

a battle of the passive-

aggressive in his life,

turning him into the carrion of sheer

emotional survival;

that pecking away at his desire

to be …

… and little by little, how even his passion

becomes the

aggressive factor, and no play in that pass-

i-

off

either, at

all: and

all play being

costed, and flustered and

roasted:

and how he’s rued the day he got married

in the first place, that beautiful place, that

place he loved so:

his terrible inability to see with desired clarity:

his lack of perspicacity:

his failure – in truth – to save them

all from the loveless.

 

Even save herself from

the

self

she’d be-

come.

 

So now it is different.

So now something has changed.

And if not completely, then slowly it becomes.

And there’s no walking back to another

belief;

there’s no walking back to doing more

time in this prison of loves, lost to the present;

in this cárcel of wasted

crimes, which did waste him

so utterly (so uttered and simultaneously

so silent); and in this fearful

jumping

and frowning

and no

dancing allowed for a man who only

wanted to be nice.

 

 

The bet is on the present; no longer in the

future; the bet is on sorting and seeing

and – maybe – one day finding a lover

who might love him with all

the love he never did experience:

with all the lust he still has …

… to give.

 

5 thoughts on “[Bet]ter [pre]{sent}: “Listen to me, Babe!”

    1. 🙂 I write from what I have lived – sometimes too much I guess. But I don’t know how to fake, even where my memories may be challenged or threadbare. They’re what there is, anyhow. Glad you get enough to want to continue reading. Generates real pleasure for me to know this.

      Liked by 1 person

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