Thursday 6/01/2006 11:17:00 PM

Blue channels in the arms. Vagrant disciples of the past. Myself. My protagonist. My war.

There is no happiness. Only denial or sedation. As I test the road all over again, I realize the buffer is always there. Speed only an afterthought. As the trees swallow the horizon. And nothing goes. We just see the changes in each other and assume we have moved.

It's not good enough just to be sorry. You have to know why you are. Tell yourself. Not me. I finished mourning you a long time ago. But the grave will always be there.

Life is a relentless insomnia. I can't feel anything except the stones in my head. The needles in my eyes. The world a hologram. No dimensions. Just senseless sounds and useless images.

My enemy. My Ally.

One.

He had everything he needed. And nothing. So did I. The sun doesn't move at all. The earth does. That's how I know everything we think we see is backward at best.

So much power in every pause. Silence thunders and strikes. The darkness threatening to burst at the thought of waking up.

From this insomnia.

My triumph. My surrender.

Our loss.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.