"Mendacious Manuals" by David Pring-Mill, Frequent Contributor

Mendacious Manuals

David Pring-Mill

We're lost

within a library

of censorship.

Fingers parse the pages,

with others

skimming quickly

past the paper cuts…

The distributed manuals

bind the banality,

insidiously instruct,

typographically terrorize!

One boy is angry:

a hand on forehead,

thumb apart

from fingers closed-together,

headphones masking

that sound of silence,

because even silence

is too vulnerable

to someone else's beats

and words.

And this abandoned youth

defies the heartless

through rhythms alone,

creating his own sonic myths

in mind.

What worlds could rise

from self-asserted patterns?

Can structures be shaken

by rumbling bass?

Respecting the etiquette of quiet,

I leave through the doorway;

my bar code doesn't beep.

Oblivious participants

form a crowd

and it is surging,

with anxious, jerking movements.

Hurry! faster!

excuse me,

watch out…

Habitually,

unheedingly,

They walk swiftly

with blank and slightly

tortured faces,

as if they all might be late

for the apocalypse.

Embers impacting concrete

signify the cigarettes,

craved and consumed

with uncaring dismissal.

I read a film review

by Roger Ebert,

in which he observed:

"In the 1950s

everybody

smoked everywhere

all the time.

Life was a disease,

and smoking held it

temporarily in remission."

Barreling forward,

without choice,

I notice

an octagon of light

falling upon them

as they worry,

with lost rays filtered

into geometric command.

and the stampede finally

culminates, beautifully,

with a trampling elegance,

and a five-thirty congestion

of cars, and a cacophony

of engines, pouring

over everything reliably.

Sneakers, cone heels, and simple,

Oxford shoes can make

a metered mark upon

this world,

with thoughts tilting

against the natural orbit,

and aligning to the accuracy

of morphed-out shadows.

We emulate the distortions

of the ones who rushed before

and rush no more.

There is more to this world

than what first appears.

This is a game played

between light and darkness.

Strategically, and musically,

the clever ones anticipate

the next moves, conjuring up

a fantasy by which

they might get saved.

On the street corner,

an official passes out

revised manuals,

with even more options

crossed out.

Poet's Notes:  I would describe "Mendacious Manuals" as a vaguely political poem. People anxiously comply with patterns, to the detriment of society, ostensibly for the maintenance of society. Those who are willing to reconsider old considerations redeem us.