4.13.2007

{too many naps.}

the way we smoke
to excess, and fester
falling short of deliverance faster than ever.


there's nobody here but us ghosts.

go home.
managing monsters,
tagging them like endangered animals
standing at the front door disguised
as small children
selling candy.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

she cried
until her tears
formed an armor
of salt across her chest.
She had wept
And she had bitten off her tongue
And cast a spell to hold the shudders shut
And turned the heavens into ash

Once every hundred years
In stale cigarettes and sticky pine needles
Memory will grace the dead
With sorrow, superstition, hope
And jealousy

She told herself it was the end of the world
Until her throat gave out and her hands
Which before had been grasping at straws
Were numb and limp and her will faded
Into a cyclical, infinite dream-state. Sleep like the dead.
She stopped bearing her wrists high above her head
She had crumbled like a Grecian statue but
she ceased to flounder about on the floor of the basement
Smoldering.

She slept it off and in the morning
Felt just great.
She had slept it off and in the morning
Felt just fine.
She drew in a deep long breath
And the world had not ended
All the missing hours of bouncing pieces off the chessboard, because time is not experienced
Objectively,
Were lost in the fray.

Sure enough the faces were not the same
But the essential mood was intact and even relatively
Familiar.

And she made a pact right then to try to be a little more light hearted
Before she went to the phone to call all her ancestors and bask in her miraculous recovery from the brink of disaster.