Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Drastic Semantics Turn Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Monday 3/10/2008 11:50:00 PM

Pictures in the numbers cry out calmly. Splitting tongues with thick teeth. Molars. Tongues. Giant spoons sop up the leftovers after the prey is gutted. I don't even see them. Shadows on the ceiling trying to convince me they were there.

Giant mounds of bone and muscle suffocating tiny breasts. Spoiling holes with too much skin. Turning these empty spaces into waiting graves.

The atoms in each breath colliding with theirs. Minor explosions that leave me defeated. Eyes like dice tumbling. All numbers. No faces. I want to be whole, but not like this. Cunning victims turn the predators into prey. So that they never know they're being eaten.

Grandma in her bed impersonating the wolf. Teaching me to be suspicious of everyone. Little lies numbed. Saved by the spider. To chew on later.

Just meat. Food. For someone else. Lopsided storeies they'll tell to someone else.

Ignore the trial. Focus on the jury. They will decide your guilt. Seduce the judge. Convince him to let you go. Rememeber what you don't know.

The mime laughing at all we haven't heard.

I can live with what I don't know, but not with what I'll never learn.

0 comments:



Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.