Sunday 6/10/2007 11:55:00 PM

I lose my place. The outlines take over. One drop too much is all it takes. To turn that glass into a grave. One color shy of a rainbow. In the stare I can still remember. That studied me like some sad microscope. Searching for evidence of hope in the casualties of its gesture.

Without a war. Without a cause. Love filters through us. A weak poison. As pedestrian as life is. Wet sidewalks in every gaze sheepishly conforming to the march of happiness across our skin.

The future is all duct tape and tears. Strangers clothes were wore because it hurt enough to change. Fabric and glue deciding for us how hard it'll be. Holding together what's falling apart. Convincing lives to collide. Cracking hearts like eggs.

The future isn't ahead of us. It's right there. In every bite of flesh that convinces us we're still hungry.. Not because it has anything to offer. But because tomorrow looks so much like yesterday did.

When you're yourself this long. When you've been with every kind of man. It's not hard to know what the antidote is.

The only wisdom in this kind of learning is regret.

1 comments:
Brian said...

"Cracking hearts like eggs."

nice.



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