Wednesday 7/29/2009 12:58:00 AM

Wearing the costume I sometimes forget. To take it off. That the seam is there. Its weak knot throbbing against the paradise humming within.

She never puts on her mask. Though occasionally she does take it off. Like bits of cloud searching for the raindrops in their piss. Heroes arrive in half written novels. And leave in their tattered capes.

I can't imagine why anyone would want to be one.

the atoms surge. And I can remember. Where I was going. For a moment. Or a little less. The fission pauses just before the explosion. To survey. Those that will be burned.

Time comes. In hysterical vomits. From her empty stomach. She wears its lipstick. pieces of meat on the tongue. negotiating constants. I'm there. In the puncture of the eye. As it dares to open. We hang high above this sharp net of time beneath us.

Shouting that it doesn't matter.

As the motor on this time machine wears down.

0 comments:


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