Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Practical Anemias. Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Saturday 12/06/2008 12:35:00 AM

Women. In fractured chambers. Torn dresses wear them each. In broken zippers. Her eyes never close. The rabbit carrying around his foot. For luck.

The universe sneezes. Big boogers of men. To make her ill. To test. How quickly she can recover. Gather all those molecules she dropped. Construct a new window from them. Time is a monster in my closet. No one believes me when I say it's there.

This skin trundles onward. Without me inside it. It's the same no matter what. Addicts pushing their boulders. Up the mountain over and over again. Buckles biting down on the moment. As people come unclothed.

This flesh draws its maps in colors too dark too see. Assembling the atoms like paint by numbers. It goes there. Limping away from where I am. It goes. Like any butterfly would. On paper thin wings. Aloft on a random sneeze.

Their dolls with their unbendable arms. I don't know what to do with them. Too many stairways that end before the top. Too much science. Not enough reason.

Crawling inside the box. Turning on the engine. She waited. For time to say something.

She counted so many years. She counted none.

She asked the world to wait while she finished talking with her tumor. Little chokes of people soil her underwear. She lives as if the world can count. She loves as if touch is literate.

The girl on that dirty sofa with her fingers in her mouth.

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