Oh! that I might expel it,
This nastiness, this mad foofaraw
(A little pigs house of straw)
Might you count each sun
That comes falling down
As I twist and turn, spit and spew
And beg a little more of even you?

(Maybe just
A long, drawn out exhale)

Or would you fail to notice [look away],
Should it suddenly spill out
In front of you someday
To land, fat and black
and screeching,
At your feet?

Now complete,
An utter atrocity,
Stuffed so full of another-worlds reality
That it leaks unattractively from its pores.
[And still it begs for more!]

(Would you lay down with it
If I asked you to?)

A couple of pills,
A bit of Daddys glue,
Segmentation born of blue -
All pasted together
To wallow alone, within
Straw walls reinforced with bone
On the other side of a desperate moon
Here in the night, here in my room.

And what of this wickedness,
That refuses its name
Would you cast it aside
Redirecting the blame
To some errant corner of the universe
Where galaxies collide
Into one another or worse,
Into themselves?

Oh, hell
Maybe its just as well
That I simply shut my mouth
[for brick and wood seem stronger, no doubt]
And hold the beast in
As the sun sets itself to rise
Again, again.


~


Ah, but
I wouldnt get to play with them if
I did

that.







Copyright © Silent-No-More ... [ 2007-01-18 00:02:56]
(Date/Time posted on site)