17 Mar 2010

no swoon

no backwards, no forwards
no rev, yes, slow motion

crusty syringe mirage
flooded the market with

buck a pound poetry
once upon a time, certain words would have power
drama would be real

no keywords
gray hair, no hair

three mouths
warping the skull from inside the cavity
vivacity, this is life on hyperdrive
who are you to judge, just
live with the palsy pain, the cerebral
deformation, you’ll get used to the shakes
he says, look at her in her gliding machine
she gets by, and somehow things hinge on
you getting by too, like you’ll let down the team
if you don’t take the baton, and on this sawtooth sprocket
in the wound-up clock of the universe
the team will be let down, cause
what ya gonna do?

i could almost believe there’s something livable
not in the sense of ability
but in the sense of quality
if you can muffle a laugh from a non-narcotic
high on life bubble
you can call it quality
i could almost believe there’s something livable
about it, since i nearly fainted this morning
and rode it like a rollercoaster, not fighting it
but feeling it, embracing the fading

he says, you can spend a millennia
running to the left of the screen
re-appearing on the right
but the only way to get anywhere in the game
is to climb the ladder, there’s quality
in cerebral deformation, if only... you...
are smart enough, strong enough...

i can only say, i’ve taught myself to hate
those words, smart, strong, if not the
qualities they describe

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