The Ramblings Admist Dozing off

No, I saw them shudder. Tiny window-pane shimmering Gods, flanked by prodigious wingmen of the often forgotten name of the Law Firm plastered on the back of the 181 Metro busline, the one that gets people to work just 3 minutes later than when they are supposed to clock in.

Acceptance is a gravy train: messy if you take it too fast.

Next month will be one year since I was hospitalized due to unknown circumstances and as things open up, my life will be, for the majority of it, until that miracle happens, homebound. I was never really a party otter, or lemur, or whatever animal would go in its place…

Scrawled Down

I'm tired yet again, but now I am always tired. Bone tired, eyes so worn that they look more like muddy curtains from the back of a body shop then the eyes I long for. …

What happened to the stranger that took over my body?

The one too tired to drive it back home. Pimpled and sporting lovely new handles...go to bed, sleep, there is no need for more.

Who has trouble walking with feet as cold as an ice truck--the left most likely the…

The shower runs with glowing embers. I try to rinse the dust, the burnt black emblems. It was the charm braclet around your wrist, wet like the galaxy that clambered when you taught me how to rain. The sky tilted under your sunburst stare. It was her eyes that reminded me that I could never dance. I was never taught by giants. It was last November you handed me your will and you said the universe would be mine. It is, now I fear, and I water her every night.




Cory’s Whimsy


I have to write because my thoughts are all over the place, but this is exactly what Trump wanted from his defense. Chaos and derision.

As Michael Steele puts it, “it doesn’t fit because it isn’t supposed to…[Trump] he is the victim here.”

If you just watched the 1st day…

Waves [1/23/2021]

Tired, too tired to eat, the lights start to skim

Through the ocean waves.

The fatigue starts to swell.

Chewing drastically fades into great big yawns.

I can barely keep a float, the abyss takes me down.

20,000 leagues into the black, past the debris and into the cold.

Thirty four years feels much older, brace for the bends, the searing numbness.

Eyes dark, darker than coal.
As I reach for communication, the black becomes sound.

Tiny pitches, sharp and serene take me down into a sad open dream, where the ocean is boundless, as I float on the stream.




In these uncertain times:


There is silence in Washington.

The day before.

Four years later.

A carnage manifested from an angry sad man.

His bull horn capped by social media giants.

There is silence in Washington:
From the lockdown
From the Green Zone
From the lies
From the hate
The Fury
A very stable genius who played us all.

Who turned the Constitution into a butt plug and shoved it so far up.

The swamp has been drained, but the pipes overflowed, like a bathtub in a haunted house...let the brown water go.

There is silence in Washington, behind the razor wire's edge.

The flags represent those who can't be there, and the lights are the symbol of who we never will get back.

The grief is — (high pitch piercing buzz)




In these uncertain times:

Football Night in America

Modern gladiators reduced to wheeled-chairs.

Masters of authors, a coordinated blitz.

The ward of a stormy season signals and the chains are moved.

No more flags. The challenge won't hold. I bessech you, turn your key and let the rockets fly.

For the ones who fail, miss managed their time.





In these uncertain times:

Cory Wyszynski

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