Tuesday 7/28/2009 12:26:00 AM

The burn of the sun. As it gnawed through my skin. Reminded me of sex with strangers. And drugs. The microscopic puncture in the surface. That devours the world. In broken pieces.

Afterward. The timeline stopped to think. About her fickle lovers. All the places. All the people. Space. A vast prison from which there is no escape. She told me time wasn't real. That we are all lost. In the nothing. A profound darkness in which only words can see. We pretend to feel. These deaf parasites. Because they prove there is something inside us.

I push the button. Awakening those metallic gods. Gears thunder. Devouring flesh. Time poses its riddles in roses and thunderstorms. I wait for the lights to go out. As the lightning hisses.

I see the future. In broken stopwatches. It's always too late. Or too soon.

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