TED PEARSON

OVERTURES

B LA ZE VO X[ B OO KS ]
Buffalo, New York
OVERTURES
by Ted Pearson
Copyright © 2023

Published by BlazeVOX [books]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the
publisher’s written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews.

Printed in the United States of America

Interior design, Cover, and typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza

First Edition
ISBN: 978-1-60964-446-8
Library of Congress Control Number: incoming

BlazeVOX [books]
131 Euclid Ave
Kenmore, NY 14217
Editor@blazevox.org

publisher of weird little books

BlazeVOX [ books ]
blazevox.org

21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11
 Contents

Without a Song
11

Blue Sphere
41

Unit Structures
71
1.

A is Not-A by any other name.

Loss signiĬies that something is missing.

Our remaining days are open to question.

Night belongs to the citizens of night.

Each is the I of its own beholding.

The dead no longer inhabit the light.

Over time, we are cured of their absence.

Given life, we are creatures of desire.

Every day, the stakes get higher.

The idle present is a forest of regrets.

Highlight reels anthologize traumas.

Errors in judgment result in wrecks.

Reason aside, There Be Monsters.

13
2.

A null set limns our history to a T.

Nothing ventured is apostasy.

Grace is a state we seldom visit.

Early to rise, we wake in stages.

Lunch amounts to a burger and a blunt.

Errant signs Ĭill waiting pages.

Yet, though these be met with silence,

Each next line must tell us true.

Subject to doubt, our doubts accrue.

14
3.

A fabled blade lay buried in a glade.

Premonitions urged restraint.

Reckless abandon gave way to constraints.

It was different, she said. But she liked it.

Latecomers knew their time was short.

I knew the words, but not the tune.

Nuptial rhythms brought heat, not light.

Primal dreams took back the night.

Apologists Ĭloated stark scenarios.

Ritual scars bared stitches in time.

Invasive species were all too human.

Survivors honed their axioms.

15
4.

At dawn, we woke to the sun’s stray beams.

Some of us clung fast to our dreams.

The hours made for rich digressions.

Idylls passed in slow succession.

Mid day sent us in search of shade.

Enterprising clouds kept the sun at bay.

Golden moments immobilized time.

Ours were the days, but not the years.

Ergonomic caskets doubled as daybeds.

Sleep did nothing to allay our fears.

By midnight, the candles had guttered out.

Yesterday’s dreams were put to rout.

16
5.

Antigens spur immune responses.

Utopians live rather well in their heads.

Tears indemnify the wounded fringe.

Uncanny voices bemoan the dead.

Mysteries underlie all our inventions,

Not least thought and its misdirections.

Long-term gains yield lasting glory.

Exceptions tell quite a different story.

A moot point obviates a ready reply.

Veracity means you’re afraid to lie.

Each word marks a further advance.

Silent tongues sing odes to chance.

17
6.

Bitter truths undo our disclaimers.

One tear sufĬices to suggest the rest.

Dreams of futurity die aborning after

Years of struggle to which we attest.

At bottom, everyday life was grim.

Nullities hastened the world’s demise.

Despots governed by will and whim.

Sorrow sanctioned a hapless surmise.

Once we woke, we took to the streets.

Under the rubble lay bedrock beliefs.

Lyric weather only sharpened our grief.

18
7.

Blessed be the accursed poet,

Under the aspect of chronic pain.

Traitorous tears are masked by rain.

Broken lines deĬine his domain.

Erotic dreams led to late-night trysts.

A volume conforms to the shape it Ĭits.

Unstrung strophes strive to cohere.

Then, “the sieve of the poem” appears.

In hell’s despite, he’s built a Ĭire.

Finality shadows his latent desires.

Unbidden memories number his years.

Locals assure us he’s not from here.

19
8.

But what if this were just a mirage where

Unstated causes lay bare their effects?

To be ever present is to have no future.

Neurons shape your state of mind.

Oracles answer to conĬirmation bias.

There is no balm for wasted time.

Freed from your bondage to kith and kin,

Only now can you see where you’ve been.

Remember this in times of trouble.

Many before you were badly broken.

Empty of hope, their dreams unspoken.

20
9.

Consumers live to buy what sells.

Research shows what research tells.

Yet, the truth is, we own nothing.

More than that we’re loath to say.

Even the masks we call our selves

Are object proof that life is hell.

Real-world losses are exponential.

Imagine extinction as providential.

Vet the evidence. It’s as they say.

Everyone wants to return to normal.

Reason enough to rue the day.

21
10.

Don’t put money on a happy ending.

Acts of contrition may want defending.

Rattled by your loss of traction, you’re

Not cataleptic, but ripe for inaction.

The story ends with a Y incision as

Hints emerge of poor decisions.

Addled critics trade barbs in kind.

Thus, the problem of other minds.

Dreams are known as Ĭine redactors.

Regimes of terror beget bad actors.

Easy answers evade hard questions.

Anomie sours your weekly sessions.

Memory’s traces are bitter lessons.

22
11.

Dissolute hours spawn endless days.

Easy living marks a decadent phase.

Some lead lives in pursuit of pleasure.

Ample time means ample leisure.

Fate once found us in an opulent lair.

I can’t account for what led us there.

Nor did we choose to stay for long.

After the Ĭirst set, we were gone.

Down in the lounge, they were playing

Our song, albeit slightly out of tune.

23
12.

Demon analogies begat frustration.

Our elders urged us to abjure Satan.

None were the wiser when we alone

Together slept on our bed of stone.

Eidetic images captured the day that

X-rated angels induced us to stay.

Plaints had no effect on our jailors.

Less than success was unqualiĬied failure.

After our poems were put on trial,

Imps of perversity praised their style.

Not for nothing, Satan smiled.

24
13.

Gone Ĭigures saunter in a gone world.

Laughing Buddhas greet aging poets.

Albeit, before their words are books,

Discordant lines merit second looks.

Tomorrow will soon be yesterday’s news.

Obits trumpet the cofĬin-nail blues.

Buskers work by appointment only.

Euphoric pills aestheticize your pain.

Understated weather. Mist, not rain.

Nowhere to run is Greek for pandemic.

Happiness is a just a thing called Joe.

Antic refrains mock the life you know.

Personal effects are those that abide.

Poems simply vanish on the outbound tide.

Your day job offered nowhere to hide.

25
14.

I can’t say I miss my former lives, though

We’re no less likely than we should be.

In just these words, I surrender, dear.

Silence falls on the blue screen of death.

How dull these hours of sequestration!

In the House of Windows, chaos reigns.

Knowledge masks what no one knows.

Notes accrue through the long night.

Early risers Ĭind a world of darkness

Wherein the living seek the light.

26