Saturday, May 26, 2012
boom
did someone die, today?
most likely.
isn't that a difficult thing?
was someone born, today?
most likely.
isn't that a difficult thing?
did someone forget today?
undoubtedly, but certainly
nothing to fret about,
for the ease of days and
such choices of humans
are relating to, or resembling
a pile of sugar. throw a handful
over your shoulder and blow
the rest away.
did someone remember, today?
I'm never sure, and I would
like to know. is there a list
somewhere, of the people who
remember? I would like the
names and addresses of
those who never murder themselves.
accidentally, while cleaning the
gun they always hold steady,
the unmatched concentration and
consideration taken when they shoot
straight.
and they remember
how many bullets they've
stored so that their life
isn't a roulette of maybe
maybe maybe maybe maybe. boom.
let us keep in touch please,
because for the moment,
the
world
feels
like
those who never remember,
even though they were there,
and
me.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
-
RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
-
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
-
there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
-
hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
-
July 12th My love's hands and eyes so full of surprise! he sees nothing wrong with giving me a synthetic strawberry.
-
In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but...
-
strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
-
at the carnival again- they promised me a ride- walking by the Ferris wheel I see the pile of lost limbs paid for such an "economical...

No comments:
Post a Comment