Sunday 12/04/2011 12:25:00 AM

swells the stem. the flower not withstanding. incursions. of the temporal kind. we remain young in our heads. but grow old in their eyes.

for all the miles we'll travel. for all the machines we'll construct. as far as we can go. we still end up in this place.

greasy pistons. simple moving parts. in a complex and thoughtless machine.

brush strokes. isolated swatches of paint. small drops of color. in an elaborate and empty landscape.

burns the match. rapid and devout. drawn to the consumption of fire. everything is the same. it either leaves us behind or else it devours.

tells the doll. fingers sewn to the dark. gentle lies. barely enough to press the button. on idling engines. deaf gods. that see our prayers. but cannot hear them.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.