Monday 11/10/2008 02:12:00 AM

He was sad. The atom at the end of its cycle. The stab relenting the numbers. Winter barely begun. He was cold already. In busy pajamas nervous with the structure. Of an eager world.

Not looking she pointed at the target in his pants. Blind she said. Always seemed appropriate. Given her circumstances. I am small. I know this. It's why I listen so big.

A little bit of neon to illuminate the inert. Butchers like fractions. Determine the meaning of dirt. Bloated treasure maps in dead equations. Steal the lamb from the lion.

It's never what I thought it would be. Stuttering skin coughing out words. In broken syllables. Pretending someone is listening.

The people are the world. The world is not people. We hold that lantern high. Flaunting our parachutes.

Imagining we can gauge.

How far away the ground is.

2 comments:
Hermes said...

The atom at the end of its cycle. The stab relenting the numbers. Winter barely begun.

Simple and beautiful... and so shamelessly hopeless.

They say the best way to deaden a hangover is to drink. I deaden my depression by coming here and reading your words. I walk away numb and for this I am thankful.

ap said...

thanx.

and you're welcome.

i hope that someday you won't need my words to deaden your depression, but rather that they will highlight your happiness.

til then, all the best.



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