Wednesday, June 23, 2010

The daze of the weak

Today I am a lightbulb
an eyeball in the ceiling
burst of flame,
I spontaneously combust.

Pink and blue
left hands, matching
no step, no
is it a guarantee
to partake in
emptying the clock of seconds
slaves to the closed circuit.

A cavern of cheeks
the pirate ship
decaying treasure.

'X' marks the spot
a smile is a sunken
barrel of sand.

My Converse give me
through your eyes

I, who have disappeared from view.

Converse stuck in Mundane's mud
left behind from
monsoon rains

A hill tribe man may wear them

Converse. A Blue Angel label.

A turtle is the saddest animal in the world today.

A crow landed on his mobile house
and told him
he is not unique -
sea animals also have shells
and there is such thing as the sea
which he will never see.

From fear
grow wings
Flydy evening
sat in blue
outside the hospital.

Hearts paralyzed by spreading wings
the bird, released from captivity,
knows not how to fly
returns to its cage.
Roaring with tingles,
the tiger attempts a growl
but all that echoes is a whisper.

Knock the skull against the window
a fly buzzes, sawing away at the
Everest of hate.
Glaciers melt, hate and fear combine
Muscles of the wings atrophy

thou shalt not become a trophy

knowing is leading
lead the way
fly away

It is not the saddest day
but 'tis certainly one of the sadder ones.

Become an ostrich -
Bury your head in the dust.

(It can't be as bad as
listening to soft jazz remakes of 'YMCA' on repeat).


This is what happens,
listening to untruths in the hot street,
your cigarette ash feathers in the gutter.
We march onward, members of the French Foreign Legion, and enemies, one to the other.

A bird's nest of hair chokes, gags me to the sagging sheets and faraway disappearances on the balcony when I think the event an unoccurrence.

Must you come inside tonight?
How many other times I've wished your fingers twisted in mine,
your admiration, your lust.

One second, blind and crime scene to be tampered with, bottles clink in reunion on balcony, cigarette butts and trail of the underworld, a scent of goosebumps on thighs and smoky trail of black cap stuck in the bed cover.

Truths and untruths,
your past parallels my present state,
a liar smoking on the surface of reality.

An object, used, the "for rent" sign lies on the balcony.

I have morphed into the unavoidable,
the state of the slug drowning in
a hot drug,
triangle of tears.

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