the volume changed. the hours divided. a naked aggression. an insidious surrender. all broken wood and sinking stones. in a sea of solitude.
a tumble of voices. barren kings on their crumbling thrones.
the viscosity of when. all plaid whistles and purple neon elastic. as if we can remember the things we only wish had happened.
the pictures turned. fundamental poisons in the fever of confession.
the typical ghosts overwhelm. a lather of faces. wear their shadows in shallow cuts.
the truth comes in rocking chairs and long division. she doesn't know. never has.
all these electric toadstools and Styrofoam rocket ships don't even come close. .
the beginning of the world is infinite. paper biographies and plastic gods. a collapsing temple of loyalty and bile. our enthusiastic worship of all things empty.
gravity is a weak force, yet it overwhelms us. gravity is critical to our survival, yet we struggle to escape it.
freedom is its own prison.
Monday
9/28/2015 11:57:00 PM
| Life Poems |