Saturday, February 09, 2008

Boy, why are you crying

she asked and I watched my shadow fly out the open window.
Fry, out the open window, eggs, bacon, gradual obscurity securing me a place
, out there, second star to the right and straight on till mourning. Cards of sympathy, long ago prepared.  Peter Pan's obituary, just waiting in a Newspaperman's bureau until the day he grows up and croaks instead of crows.


We Lost Boys, a generation of hucksters and hookers of the Gaming Night,
Generation WhoCares, raffish imprecators, frisky ambiance and masks
standing in a line, an inchoate mass of beer bellies and Wii masters,
"The only person around here who's
never seen their shadow step forward
," announces Pan.
Only the sun and I remain motionless
Numb in solitude, unpublished, unread.


Gone, gone, snow drifts on a praire pond
Little bursts of pleasure and I don't want to go back there. 
Wrapped in a mantle of disconnect and discontent
I mark the monument to my own magnificent malaise. MMmm.

So much of life in the world is waiting,
the ghosts of lost energies haunt me into smoldering bonfires of lethargy and I dream loudly,
with so much noise and smoke and rising calamity that it clouds [our] sleepy vision.


Bonfire of the Manatees.


"i need to invest in some sleeping pills. or learn how to shut my brain off. or hear from you."


-[sh]e



The Devil in the hills.  Profligacy and dissafecction playing Card
invites & symphonies.  Conductor flailing, failing ego, shadow dancers of the No Can Do selfsame night.


Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. 
Only what's left.  That's right.

Jesus came over and we went to the store to buy stuff for dinner. 
"These apples are delicious..."he said.


And now the world is gone and my soul with it.  You're gone, too.  The suspended, meditative moments of excess captured and slipped away.
Artifice restored with boozy virtuosity.  My words do little justice to true emotion.

Algebra is a noun that means "the reunion of broken parts".
That X is now deceiving Y with Z


- Howard Nemerov
sort of. except for. never mind. circles circles circles, and circles.


 

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