Sunday, March 28, 2010

as viscous pieces of ideas
fall into disrepair
my words flee

here is hell
there is hellish
and winter speaks
with a low voice of
an old man who
knows meaning lacks
any sense of decency

words fall into disrepair
if old men despair
and hellish winter speaks
while voices crack
and meaning escapes

hell is here

Thursday, March 4, 2010

heart is a 

poisoned well

and mind is lost

with a wounded pride

and a profound sadness 

while the night just sat there 

with rubbing alcohol simmering 

in its stomach talking to itself 

telling small contemptuous 

stories of small bitter 

people dissolving 

into obsolescence

without making

much of a

fuss as if

they never

existed

in the 

first

place

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

stopped asking why

wish it were
the safety of
a mechanical universe
asking me
to stop

but
i rode myself here
grinding to the bone
to a place
why has
no place to be

here
i know not
a why or
a how

here
no episteme
no cry