open.
sunset is a thousand black bones. scrying a dirty blue dirge of commerce. Reveille through a busted saxophone. down tempo doesn’t seem the fitting epitaph, like concrete used to be. irony is retiring in favor of sophomoric ridicule. but, no halogen light will nullify the knots.
oh god, I’m doing it all again. seeing crooked and writing in similar… the lines and nothing ever intersects.
March is proving to be a bitchy bipolar mistress. no kisses, just some boot-print posterior. prone shuffle through slushy hell. fucking sloshy hell named Playguard. and it comes down, through trees that used to be my friends. trees that used to show me the way home with spiderweb streetlights, but now they let the cold cringe on in. on down to smother in icy stasis.
so much for spring…so much for my sybaritic forgeries.
such seasons in this place are all closed doors. no refuge and no point of reference. just endless hungry faces. (endless fucking hunger.) the world confounds by nature… so, just buy a helmet already. a shiny one, so the rest of us can see you coming.
now, it’s this eerie empty street with its light of violation, raping open my eyes. maybe if I could touch the light - feel it sticky between my fingers - then could I finally understand? maybe the revelation could take hold at last?
however, this room is not the conduit that it used to be. its music dances different upon my ear. its skin has changed with the weather. become strange with the temperatures of a million surrendered moments.
“but isn’t life like surrender, precious?” asks the succubus living in my hypothalamus.
my smile is just a stress fracture.
my smile doesn’t belong to me anymore.
No comments:
Post a Comment