Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Sad Time Machines Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Friday 8/07/2009 01:44:00 AM

farther still. If such a thing were possible.

The dead dogs with their loose leashes. Shit the yard in quick consent. The atoms. On her eyelids. Blink slower. Now that she's found herself. I has the ghost in my palm. Terminals at the back of the throat. Coughing up brighter lies. The quixotic euphemisms of skin. Not lost. Only misplaced. Until I can find a new logic for this chaos.

I wrote to her. In short notes that should've been deleted. I said things. I should not have said. Only because I wanted to hear them.

Farther yet. As if this mania is something new. I saw. As any artist would. gods in broken men. Blind goddesses with their gowns on backwards. Little children with too much to confess.

I asked her. With a time machine warming on each wrist. Far enough? I admitted to her. In skipping breaths. I couldn't understand. The difference between then and now.

I just keep counting as the triggers in my head insist. Seldom anthems. Plebeian redemption's. Resume the clock on dying men. I don't know. Can't imagine. Tell me. Are you far away enough to see me yet?


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