Monday, July 1, 2013


The day has slated me
I am deaf about the ears, again
To any reason that may float nearby.
No metaphor for cause
No drastic queue to prompt
Nothing but the numb
To bruise bruises that have grown stale
Ages and ages ago...
When the day was blue and floating,
Unlike the now, green with envy.

Fornication of inanimate objects
In its senseless adverbial prison
Seems a likelier conclusion
To this yesterday that I bid adieu.
'Yesterday', I speak of it as though it has passed
Not, in all the welcome of tomorrow is that coming
Thursday, twice past holds no greater value than my now.
The crutch of this pause holds me fast
I am revolting in lurid form, yet without gain.

What then, I ask, is this questionable attitude forming?
Why, when the rotted expiration has come and gone and still
De-oxygenated flesh moves on, as if to harbor hope
Hope in longing.

Hope in longing, yes.
It is there that I roam; soft, warm, still breathing
Half-moon eyelids at rest, as another imaginary pulse lingers.
Who knew the flavor of waste would become so addictive?
The bane of existence has been clutched close
To an untouched breast that lays in dormant haste-
Or waste.
The distinction in today is futile
For the knowledge of tomorrow is had;
I am still miles away from that awakening
When senses long dulled by the heroin of loneliness,
Drink again from a cup; a cup strong, potent, worthy.

Crooked are these assumptions, to push forward in virtuous haste
Relying on a tomorrow that can never guarantee
Absolution from the stinging cause of going without.
There is reticence everywhere
Swimming in the deep water of all my refluent thought.

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