Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: The Truth About Liars Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Friday 4/11/2008 12:47:00 AM

He never said much. Words always prove vindictive. Copernicus grin. Littered with big teeth. Metaphors on the verge of knowing their muses. Pants on the floor. In steady geometrics of skin. The circumference of alone calculating the density of this decision. To forget. Decide it doesn't matter what I want. Or feel I should have.

I'm only one plague at the onset of an epidemic. People. In chalkboard houses quietly erasing the cure. It was never there, they'll claim. Swimming in the quicksand. The smothering is candy. Sweet fruit hitting me in the head. As the trees decide to go naked.

Time is both a practical device and an emotional one. To gauge the affection of absentee skin. To determine the distance between this lover and the next. Time is an empty drawer in the morgue. Waiting for dead things to fill it.

People in colors like melting crayons. The pengunent smell of marker as the outline draws its course. Everything tells me what it wants.

Not sayThe s what it can give.

To unread books ripped from their covers, to liars lost in the truth.


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