There, there you'll find a vibrating string
Bound at the ends as they pull and release
Frantically trying to keep the same pitch
In a world in constant flux
The string struggles to remain
Vibrating words swollen shut with pride
Pride made possible by ineluctable changes
Changes the string vibrates against
Against change to maintain one tone
One tone of deconstructing om
Om that funnels life into a line
Lines for rationalization
Unrelenting death and decay
But here, here you'll find another string
A string acknowledging everything
Everything including the other string
That string of doubt, expectations and blame
But this string lets its pitch change
The pitch change disintegrates and discorporates blame
As conspicuously as the other string creaks and tightens,
His tones harmonize in the song of life
Reacting to compliment change
Then changing to compliment reactions
Reactions that have no end
Friday, April 8, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
NAPOWRIMO Splatterings 4-7: Running Away With Both Legs This Time
Strolling the sexual bellows of town
High commerce correspondence while clutching their belongings
Attractive people featured under green and white awnings
But a cigarette is all I'm after
I enter, swinging ice water in a glass with a brown tint
I laugh with the smokers outside as I hint
At what I want, but my intentions are well known
Their body language closes, "Go buy a pack of your own"
Said without words, thought of without prompting
And while they don't fill this new emptiness created by you
Cigarettes give me something to look forward to
Gratification, with a little repulsion before it comes back
I just don't want to be tied down to an entire pack
Which I can afford, but not abide the side effects
Stinking up my car, introducing it to my friends
Eventually someone relents on one condition
That I walk away when the cigarette ends
I feel pathetic and slighted but I know
This is the first of many pathetic steps to go
High commerce correspondence while clutching their belongings
Attractive people featured under green and white awnings
But a cigarette is all I'm after
I enter, swinging ice water in a glass with a brown tint
I laugh with the smokers outside as I hint
At what I want, but my intentions are well known
Their body language closes, "Go buy a pack of your own"
Said without words, thought of without prompting
And while they don't fill this new emptiness created by you
Cigarettes give me something to look forward to
Gratification, with a little repulsion before it comes back
I just don't want to be tied down to an entire pack
Which I can afford, but not abide the side effects
Stinking up my car, introducing it to my friends
Eventually someone relents on one condition
That I walk away when the cigarette ends
I feel pathetic and slighted but I know
This is the first of many pathetic steps to go
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
NAPOWRIMO Splatterings 4-6: One More Night
As I exit the orange stained street light
With a little pink in the hue
And consider where I must travel tonight
My innards squeeze to form a 'W'
At the first photon of the sunrise
I'll find a bus waiting
With doors ajar, to take me far,
Far away from this lost cause locale
But for just one more night
My heart will pump blood into these abandoned streets
For just one more night
The blood will dry and
My boots will kick the mud clumps into walls
For just one more night
I'll breathe the sand I can't see
And think not of another place to be
But of barely recognizable defunct stores
That strands of lights couldn't save
The inefficient vacuum that nature abhors
The years of my life I gave
Just one more night
Of jumping every time I hear a sound
From fear or hope that a solution was found
Then reminding myself of why I can not stay
And this part of me lives
For just one more night
Just one more night than I can say
With a little pink in the hue
And consider where I must travel tonight
My innards squeeze to form a 'W'
At the first photon of the sunrise
I'll find a bus waiting
With doors ajar, to take me far,
Far away from this lost cause locale
But for just one more night
My heart will pump blood into these abandoned streets
For just one more night
The blood will dry and
My boots will kick the mud clumps into walls
For just one more night
I'll breathe the sand I can't see
And think not of another place to be
But of barely recognizable defunct stores
That strands of lights couldn't save
The inefficient vacuum that nature abhors
The years of my life I gave
Just one more night
Of jumping every time I hear a sound
From fear or hope that a solution was found
Then reminding myself of why I can not stay
And this part of me lives
For just one more night
Just one more night than I can say
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
NAPOWRIMO Splatterings 4-5: Fire is on Your Couch
When I love with fire
And fire becomes complacent
And fire is on your couch
You are too busy sweeping soot
To cook or sit and eat
And sleeping next to heat
Does little to console
The burden of this role
And you're surrounded day and night
By more efficient sources of light
That are gentler to the touch
And these do not cost you much
These loves you may equally requite
And fire becomes complacent
And fire is on your couch
You are too busy sweeping soot
To cook or sit and eat
And sleeping next to heat
Does little to console
The burden of this role
And you're surrounded day and night
By more efficient sources of light
That are gentler to the touch
And these do not cost you much
These loves you may equally requite
Monday, April 4, 2011
NAPOWRIMO Splatterings 4-4: Moment of Impact
I carry a love ball
I bounce it against a hate wall
For that split second of impact
The ball is consumed with hate
As I catch it on the way back
I wonder, does that split second dominate?
Stochastic tosses touch a truth
Is truth an average of moments?
Am I completely oblivious to
What my incessant tossing foments?
I bounce it against a hate wall
For that split second of impact
The ball is consumed with hate
As I catch it on the way back
I wonder, does that split second dominate?
Stochastic tosses touch a truth
Is truth an average of moments?
Am I completely oblivious to
What my incessant tossing foments?
Sunday, April 3, 2011
NAPOWRIMO Splatterings 4-3 Drifting Apart
My comfort zone
My forgotten world
The melody to my rhythm
The tune stuck in my head
My frustrating puzzle
Long ago thought to be solved
But some pieces are missing
We look at one another through them
As though it were a wormhole
Gradually we realize it is not
There were just two puzzles in the same box
So as we drift apart
We gradually turn away
But I can still see you
Space and time
Were never our strong point, anyway
My forgotten world
The melody to my rhythm
The tune stuck in my head
My frustrating puzzle
Long ago thought to be solved
But some pieces are missing
We look at one another through them
As though it were a wormhole
Gradually we realize it is not
There were just two puzzles in the same box
So as we drift apart
We gradually turn away
But I can still see you
Space and time
Were never our strong point, anyway
Saturday, April 2, 2011
NAPOWRIMO Splatterings 4-2: Magic Foot
Why should I let the hairs
on the top of my foot dictate
anything
Oh yeah, they weave between
the threads of my socks
Then each step almost pulls them out,
So I purchase socks with a higher thread-count
Fortified now, without an alibi, I walk
Foot hair no longer a factor
My ambitions climb
So my pace is faster
Foot hair not on my mind
The fine fabric massages my toes
A fan of friction, my Mercury rose
Forming pools of sweat beneath my arches
And static electricity like insects, marches
Marches as my hairs inter-tangle with my stride
So I speed up, as though this phase
Is merely the beginning of the trail I'll blaze
A quaint memory at most
And I continue patronizing this moment
"It'll make a great mantle-piece"
But soon, my static must find release
On these crowded streets, gunshots are heard
My feet glow, and people assume the position
I run at first, but I just become brighter
My only control is to ease my transition
Into a novelty life of public service
on the top of my foot dictate
anything
Oh yeah, they weave between
the threads of my socks
Then each step almost pulls them out,
So I purchase socks with a higher thread-count
Fortified now, without an alibi, I walk
Foot hair no longer a factor
My ambitions climb
So my pace is faster
Foot hair not on my mind
The fine fabric massages my toes
A fan of friction, my Mercury rose
Forming pools of sweat beneath my arches
And static electricity like insects, marches
Marches as my hairs inter-tangle with my stride
So I speed up, as though this phase
Is merely the beginning of the trail I'll blaze
A quaint memory at most
And I continue patronizing this moment
"It'll make a great mantle-piece"
But soon, my static must find release
On these crowded streets, gunshots are heard
My feet glow, and people assume the position
I run at first, but I just become brighter
My only control is to ease my transition
Into a novelty life of public service
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)