it was photocopied and stapled.
had to shape it,
every stroke just right,
so i sat
alone
every night...
pondering what i would be
if i hadn't built this deity.
NB @ 3:47 PM
[ 1 comments ]
Thursday, March 30, 2006
i built a god out of paper,
it was photocopied and stapled.
had to shape it,
every stroke just right,
so i sat
alone
every night...
pondering what i would be
if i hadn't built this deity.
your words are as empty as that gun you're pointing at me.
it was photocopied and stapled.
had to shape it,
every stroke just right,
so i sat
alone
every night...
pondering what i would be
if i hadn't built this deity.
Monday, March 27, 2006
i am a carcass.
animals
in human skin
revealing only killers eyes...
by the time you notice
you're not shaking a human hand,
it
is
too
late.
devouring.
perfect machines
never reminiscing,
romanticizing.
feeding
sleeping
feeding
fat stomachs from
trapping their prey--
dangling savory dreams
of
perfect,
unconditional,
affection.
(i am) a chunk of unresolved gall lodged in the throat of logic.
animals
in human skin
revealing only killers eyes...
by the time you notice
you're not shaking a human hand,
it
is
too
late.
devouring.
perfect machines
never reminiscing,
romanticizing.
feeding
sleeping
feeding
fat stomachs from
trapping their prey--
dangling savory dreams
of
perfect,
unconditional,
affection.
NB @ 2:31 PM
[ 0 comments ]
Monday, March 20, 2006
disconnected.
stood there...
feeling like the punchline
to love's cruelest inside joke.
skull pressing against the cabinet,
holding to my ear
a piece of plastic
that,
when connected,
shoots
the sound of your voice
into my ear.
the trouble is,
with the same technology,
you
are able
to hear
my voice...
desperate
bitter
verbiage
falls
falls
falls
falls
like flocks of revving chainsaws
thrown
into plate glass windows.
you disconnect
because
i
am
disconnected.
[i don't blame you.]
the cemetery ballot (a short story)
stood there...
feeling like the punchline
to love's cruelest inside joke.
skull pressing against the cabinet,
holding to my ear
a piece of plastic
that,
when connected,
shoots
the sound of your voice
into my ear.
the trouble is,
with the same technology,
you
are able
to hear
my voice...
desperate
bitter
verbiage
falls
falls
falls
falls
like flocks of revving chainsaws
thrown
into plate glass windows.
you disconnect
because
i
am
disconnected.
[i don't blame you.]
NB @ 11:17 AM
[ 2 comments ]
Monday, March 13, 2006
the sound of a thousand car accidents screamed in my ears.
i awoke, startled, not knowing if it was a dream.
crawling,
i peeked through the dirty slats of my window,
pushing aside the dusty curtain...
dark.
nothing.
still,
sitting up,
i felt as if something was missing.
numb.
painful needles shot quickly through my blood.
i had been left a gift from someone.
it was from my soul.
it was once brilliant,
but grew ever grey,
like its flesh and bone imprisonment.
it left these melancholy verses in a note,
pinned through the shirt, right to the heart:
i grew tired of running away from a stark reality
larger than a hundred elephants.
you have asked of my wisdom,
and yet my answers to you are of no consequence--
they do not covet vanity nor wealth.
i am a useless appendage..
i have left you something to fill the space.
use it when it comes to how you feel in general.
don't worry about my well being...
you could, i suppose,
but then could you look at yourself in a mirror
without calling yourself a liar?
ever notice that being told not to worry
automatically makes you do so?
i peeled back the layers of torn skin from the puncture wound.
i am now made of mud.
i don't know how i continue to live.
it had always loved the ocean of space,
my soul did--
envied the second nature of birds.
i like to think it traveled to be with you
where it felt most at home.
it left behind a leather-bound book of photos,
displaying events now unremembered,
people only vaguely familiar.
got dressed. wanted answers.
leather bound book in hand,
i stepped outside my door and began to notice
that life was now void of color.
i was not alone.
occupants of the entire
tree-lined,
suburban nightmare
dwelling congregation
had too, heard something crash
and stepped outside.
by the looks on their faces,
we shared solidarity in our experience
on this grey morning.
we have all lost our souls
to something.
just living out our days,
waiting for the mud to dry.
an epiphony, stolen.
i awoke, startled, not knowing if it was a dream.
crawling,
i peeked through the dirty slats of my window,
pushing aside the dusty curtain...
dark.
nothing.
still,
sitting up,
i felt as if something was missing.
numb.
painful needles shot quickly through my blood.
i had been left a gift from someone.
it was from my soul.
it was once brilliant,
but grew ever grey,
like its flesh and bone imprisonment.
it left these melancholy verses in a note,
pinned through the shirt, right to the heart:
i grew tired of running away from a stark reality
larger than a hundred elephants.
you have asked of my wisdom,
and yet my answers to you are of no consequence--
they do not covet vanity nor wealth.
i am a useless appendage..
i have left you something to fill the space.
use it when it comes to how you feel in general.
don't worry about my well being...
you could, i suppose,
but then could you look at yourself in a mirror
without calling yourself a liar?
ever notice that being told not to worry
automatically makes you do so?
i peeled back the layers of torn skin from the puncture wound.
i am now made of mud.
i don't know how i continue to live.
it had always loved the ocean of space,
my soul did--
envied the second nature of birds.
i like to think it traveled to be with you
where it felt most at home.
it left behind a leather-bound book of photos,
displaying events now unremembered,
people only vaguely familiar.
got dressed. wanted answers.
leather bound book in hand,
i stepped outside my door and began to notice
that life was now void of color.
i was not alone.
occupants of the entire
tree-lined,
suburban nightmare
dwelling congregation
had too, heard something crash
and stepped outside.
by the looks on their faces,
we shared solidarity in our experience
on this grey morning.
we have all lost our souls
to something.
just living out our days,
waiting for the mud to dry.
NB @ 4:37 PM
[ 2 comments ]
Friday, March 03, 2006
where is the future?
is it us?
a fool,
longing for the endless light
that thoughts of yesterday bring.
empty shells.
waiting for war,
celebrating indifference.
[on the move again, searching for the blindspots]
photocopied and stapled
is it us?
a fool,
longing for the endless light
that thoughts of yesterday bring.
empty shells.
waiting for war,
celebrating indifference.
[on the move again, searching for the blindspots]
NB @ 10:14 AM
[ 2 comments ]
Thursday, March 02, 2006
a place to sit,
to be alone.
to feed an ever starving misery,
and pick the world apart...
piece
by
piece.
into a pile of jagged scraps
left at my feet.
to be alone.
to feed an ever starving misery,
and pick the world apart...
piece
by
piece.
into a pile of jagged scraps
left at my feet.
NB @ 10:37 AM
[ 1 comments ]