Tuesday, 7 September 2010

written in a notebook, out of frustration

with what screeching halt
stops breath and doesn't think
the hyper flavored tongue
as does the ended
fluttering over a gas leak
that blends our vision and
speaks to us in tongues
it licks us,
its wounds
with such powerful care
that it might tear us
away from the scars
that we call our home
and if it doesn't make
or use phrases that we hold
to the light
to reflect
a knowledge
of these
words that
creep down feted alleys
in the wrong part of
our minds
and will only open to us
if we are broken, or torn apart, bleeding and

clamoring for a word
better than GOD
better than INFINITY
and unwilling to admit
that it cannot exist
especially among our
terrified wills
unable to defend ourselves
with any thing but
ignorance and gritted bliss

it is a mirror,
stacked face down
shining through slats
of lacquered cherry
put there, mercifully,
by mom and dad

so forgive me if I get lost and can't return your calls
god has me now, and he
is taking reparations for all
the belief that I have
denied it thus far

I am a lost nothing, being
shoved down a larger, bigger
that is angry with my apathy
and nihilism

I can refuse it
and write, sleep, love, smoke, drink
but it doesn't ever let up

its waves are arms with ten thousand fingers each
its tide is a feeling that sends us down

it is laying on the ground in the rain
cold and grey
flowering through the sustained disbelief of
philosophical misspellings
and under-used silence

it shows through your eyes,
who I write about especially when I am not writing
and it causes me to invoke nothing,
and confusion
more than the everything it is

I'm the quill, undipped
because the answer is so busy looking at my

and you are the page that I'll never write on
because my handwriting needs

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