Thursday 7/20/2006 11:52:00 PM

I'm not anyone. Not anything. You'd remember. Dead partridge in its stale pear tree. A wilted lexicon of friends and lovers defines.

Words I cannot say.

No spiders with their heavy webs. Prey paralyzed. It looks like a bridge. Thoughts lay in their unspun candy wrappers. Trying to appear hard.

I liked the color when the glass was stiff with humanity. The sober so grave in your questions.I know I was. wrong. Am.

Where are those lovers now. What skin do they wear. it must be someone's. Because it can't be mine.

Dancing on our crutches. Loose pisses trailing their strings behind them.

Ringing the doorbells on those houses made of cards.

Destruction the only way I know how to save myself.

The denim not agreeing I found another fabric. For the time being. As khaki as we are now.

Blistering as we rub against those selfish walls. Sorer because I know I'm not different.

The pin in my hand poised to break it. Collect all that blood for something better.

Turn all these counterfeit hearts into dollar and cents.

Telling myself it's enough.

The echo of submission still raw in the easy-bake oven.

I can't imagine ever having been so young as to believe. Or old enough to forget.


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2018. All Rights Reserved.