I drowned in 1982.
It was a slow yearlong death.
Being blown out and sunk
in the middle of a lake
I never knew I was sailing on.
Yeah man blown out, not up,
that would have been too kind
to a heart exhausting itself.
Fighting to stay above water
on the ripples of the big bang.
That brined heart hasn’t been found of them
to whom it should have mattered most.
They did not care to look
only to slowly escape the sight
of the annihilated man.
© M Durfee
6/12/2022
THE WALKING MAN
ALL ROADS LEAD TO THE SAME PLACE FOR ALL MEN
Tuesday, June 14, 2022
THEIR GREAT ESCAPE
Monday, June 6, 2022
THE GREAT WHITE WALL
Everyone that matters hides behind it.
The sick, the injured, the guilty,
the blameless, the young, the old, and the very old.
The loud and the louder yell from behind it.
The enlightened speak about it on TV but
what they speak is mostly self-serving bullshit.
The cult followers pray to it,
hoping for the change they spent their faith and fortunes on.
(MAGA promises RULE!)
The flag wavers and sign carriers,
all have a position that is absolute
and that's the only correct one to solve every issue...
just ask the blue-eyed Jesus
who has a permanent place behind it.
Behind the great white wall
you cannot have an abortion.
or any other health care not
provided to old White men.
But you do get to buy as many
guns and cannons as you need
Because behind the wall they need
to have live targets for mass shooters and
a population that ensures enough victims
and a statistical advantage at census time.
Can we out fuck THEM, like we outgun
THEM not found behind the wall?
Can we try?
Old fat guys hiding behind the wall
have a new purpose; baby daddies
(if only I had not gotten that vasectomy!)
Do you know who is not sheltering behind the great white wall?
Everyone not trying to hang onto a God damned cruel history.
© M Durfee
6/4/2022
Sunday, May 15, 2022
THE SEED
I died in the germinating light of the morning.
Light enough to see…
but not the hot noon day cooking sun…yet.
I am glad for it,
dying in the cool shadows, that is, because being overly bright
was never my forte.
I could get around, sure, but no one that I ever met would call me
a substantial thinker.
I was a denizen of the timeline where my brilliant father
codified in me my failures.
He was though a good guy to them he respected,
mainly vodka.
All these years removed from him, them, that place.
memories of that life cycle;
now mashed together in a plastic bag manufactured by time
leaking out, dying in the exposure.
I do not regret my living or my coming dying.
Regret
after the apology is a fool’s game. I have been a fool but not at
any time near now.
Dylan cried for his father's life “Do not go gentle into that good night…”
his father did in fact die—so did he.
“Good to forgive. Best to forget. Living we fret.
Dying we live.”
I prefer Browning, and Bob over Thomas.
Wee and old, all die.
That time is both near and far yet we live fearing
the unstoppable.
That ain’t living now, is it? Fear is life but let it be
the life of someone else.
I died in the germinating light of the morning.
Light enough to see and grow.
© M Durfee
5/15/2022
Tuesday, May 10, 2022
IF ONLY ICARUS COULD SEE US NOW
Monday, March 28, 2022
ON BEING A SLUG
In a world gone nuts,
two gastropods
are intertwined breeding,
sliding on a string of snot.
Slick snot.
They are in no hurry
to be right or wrong
in the way they do it;
rappel that is.
The mollusks are
of one mind.
Just working
at getting
where they’re going.
There truly is no rush.
Just be a slug
and we’ll get there.
Wherever our there is.
© M Durfee
3/26/2022
Tuesday, March 8, 2022
HURRY THE END
As some stand frozen in the frigid temperature
of their hearts what shall we do for that evil?
We do what we do well; we go to war remotely.
Power, power is a terrible thing
when it condemns them stuck in place
by the barren winds of war, starved of life.
Winds that starve the pained and troubled, cool the dead.
We find it easier to look away,easier to save ourselves
as one by one our companions fall to invasion, the red
glare.
The opportunity seekers; political masters, wealthy pimps
who will never know until that at the last second of life,
as the death rattle fades, all are suddenly completely equal.
Everything after death is a show for them waiting impatiently
for the vacuum to suck them into the palace of power where
those who’d rule launch wars because they can; they have arrived.
Their increase is death over men stuck in sadness,
unwilling to go on, to fight for a good life, a kind life
All is empty of thought my hunger is eating the truth of war.
Death’s sting is no worry for the dead for the disheartened,
it is become a welcome thing that brings the warmth of the earth
where finally all that is, is without pain, or sadness, or
this mad life.
Call me brother no more for I am frozen, naked and decaying,
slowly crumbling to dust waiting on them who destroyed my
life,
to be my equal.
© M Durfee
3/8/2022