Peter A. Weinberg – Poetry

This sad, classic world
   of death, illness, causes, illusory triumphs and effects
overlies the indestructible, random, quantum
   Unnatural weird events, they
underlie the harsh stark noise of this world, they live
   because it’s absurd

He accepts no criticism
   the intrusive offender is soon dropped
She resents his ingratitude and desertion
   but no one cares about his dramatic resignation
which is accepted with a bureaucrat’s indifferent,
   impersonal, bland deliberation

In this game you can only manipulate,
   double-cross your opponent, hate her or
you can refuse to play
   Fog over water, trash in the field,
old green apples wrapped in cellophane,
   a rusty door held open too long

All the lightness of her personality
   without the anger we dream
They teach us, our mentors, how
   to face her dank, dark damage
Tepid waters calm for now, lives
   lived stupidly pass from room to room

Circus freaks know that if you want to be with someone
   you have to join their act
Instinctive limitations stilt her again, eat at her from within
   We kiss with the subway station bars between us
Healed things work but they don’t always work so well
   He forgets that he still might get through this

- July 8, 2011 -