Wednesday, August 30, 2006


Into the world again
As though the fringes would cover me up
When the hinges uncovet my recklessness
Sailing away in a urban boat
That contains more fear than love
That contains an unknown form of comfort

The city is seemly overtly illuminated
And tirelessly I shiver into the motions of machines
In plastic-wrapped dreams
That resemble being childish
And sometimes even queer
Living in a phone-boot

The summer rains frentically on me
With smiles packed in vertigo
The pleasure of regret
The surrounding voices
That cut through the flesh not unlike leaves
Falling from within a signal of no-life

Too many things run in front of me
My pasts, my sorrows, my shame
The days of old, always fresh anew
In the darkest alleys of a book
Whose author feared, whose author murdered himself unto
A certain morning, over the dread of cold paper

I let myself go loosen
As though all this had no repair
Had no substantial condition
Untrodden paths marked by empty glasses
By highways stricken with silences
That spring from within a sore wall

I no longer suffer from his ailments
Which once meant life a whole
Then turned into dust
And awoke to a forest three weeks ago
But it isn't important
After all, he's no longer an oak.

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