Possibilities fold
inward on themselves;
collapsing accordion-style
into the one flat sheet
that becomes the path we walk--outside--
excluded from the crevasses of possibility
that we now tread over
and pass
with every step.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
I think
[Not much to say here.]
I think
this is one of those times when
you don't feel like writing;
because there's nothing to say
that hasn't already been felt
or thought--
the redundancy would make it
something
ridiculous.
And I think this is
one of those times
when I don't feel like writing.
I think
this is one of those times when
you don't feel like writing;
because there's nothing to say
that hasn't already been felt
or thought--
the redundancy would make it
something
ridiculous.
And I think this is
one of those times
when I don't feel like writing.
Labels:
redundancy,
ridiculous,
sad,
silent,
writing
Friday, March 12, 2010
Waves
[Thought/imagery dump for now--I'm exhausted.]
The sun is setting on this
with fingerpainted blood red
streaks fading into ribbons
of gold and blue that somehow
twist themselves together in
to something more than what was
seen here, now, before all the
fury comes to sweep away
the sky leaving the rubble
of a new star fading down
into an unfamiliar ocean.
I think I'll miss the sunset
but I want to see the waves.
The sun is setting on this
with fingerpainted blood red
streaks fading into ribbons
of gold and blue that somehow
twist themselves together in
to something more than what was
seen here, now, before all the
fury comes to sweep away
the sky leaving the rubble
of a new star fading down
into an unfamiliar ocean.
I think I'll miss the sunset
but I want to see the waves.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Television
[Here's a really random rhyme scheme for you. I kind of like it though. Maybe I'll bring it back someplace else.]
The television's talking out
like chatty neighbors down the street,
busy with their fragile cause of
turning whispers into shouts:
words can kill
like blood can spill.
The stacks in piles miles high
of silly, silly, useless sounds
just slam together empty words--
Society, the critics sigh.
To them, a secret little known:
The lies you see are each your own.
With all the letters painted black
we still don't know what we can trust,
since truth can hide beneath the type
next to the change we can't take back.
So what remains as seconds fly?
Here lies the truth: the truth can lie.
The television's talking out
like chatty neighbors down the street,
busy with their fragile cause of
turning whispers into shouts:
words can kill
like blood can spill.
The stacks in piles miles high
of silly, silly, useless sounds
just slam together empty words--
Society, the critics sigh.
To them, a secret little known:
The lies you see are each your own.
With all the letters painted black
we still don't know what we can trust,
since truth can hide beneath the type
next to the change we can't take back.
So what remains as seconds fly?
Here lies the truth: the truth can lie.
Labels:
lies,
media,
television,
truth,
words
Friday, March 5, 2010
WOAH. A rhyme scheme.
[What follows is mind vomit, but I do like to rhyme once in a while.]
What do you say
to get the time
to sit and type
and sit and rhyme?
The words stare back;
what could you do,
were you to find
the seconds flew?
exhaustion laying
on my mind
like loads of bricks--
the heavy kind.
With too much here
and too much there,
my mind just goes out
anywhere.
What do you say
to get the time
to sit and type
and sit and rhyme?
The words stare back;
what could you do,
were you to find
the seconds flew?
exhaustion laying
on my mind
like loads of bricks--
the heavy kind.
With too much here
and too much there,
my mind just goes out
anywhere.
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