Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Science Of Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Friday 1/06/2006 10:02:00 PM

Hollow cabins in restless sleep leave the wakeful scrambling for the salvage of discarded years. All that then I threw away now has become buried treasure. And still I dig on night after night with these holes in my shovel. Always believing if I could only dig fast enough that they wouldn't matter.

Every cap adds to the stairway I'm building. This crooked staircase that goes down and up at every step. Leaving me stranded by the force of my own momentum.

It's inertia they say that keeps bodies at rest. And the same that keeps them moving. That is if they ever get started.

There's science in it. That must be true. But what's to account for the chemistry we use to make darkness a place we can see in. And to make a vacuum a place where we can still breathe.

What is the science of pain. And what can it teach us?

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