Tuesday 10/21/2008 12:11:00 AM

Dirty child. Sticky gear shift protruding from your groin. Dirty child. In the wallows of old men. Swimming. Holding your breath.

Always swimming. Underwater.

Fast enough no doubt. Nipples like sour balls. The sugar shell breaks. In random convulsions of touch. People. All jellyfish. Drying up in the sand. The world that spit them out goes on.

People. Whales. Suffocating. Under the weight of their own mass. Dirty children playing in the sand. Where all the graves are. No one sees god. He doesn't talk to anyone. Because we never listen.

It's all want. Greasy brakes that always fail us. When all I want is find the atom. Make it accountable. For why we are here.

They name the stars to fool us. Into thinking we know. Anything about the world around us. They promise we'll never grow old. But we still do.

We clutch that dirty gear shift. And hope. Her panties don't know our name.

It's best if we don't know why we hate each other.

The world comes to us in whimpers. Leaves us in fists. The punches are fine. It's the slaps I resent.

We spend so much to conform to the dream. And then it wakes us up.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.