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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Vague and coded story

Submitted: July 26, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 26, 2007



Disconnect ricocheted as my hair fell to the ground

Take it slow, a low beat drummed from the hallway

Black box spun blades again and again,

As I went downstairs and lost myself in a fast food

Fantasy of what it should be like, but isn’t.


Half bred images, wiry and dry, reaping personally

With great lunges and small ebbs in a sofa cushion,

The idle hand, the picture of an old crush long peaked,

Empty without substance, dehydrated in a clay bowl.


From where a blossom startled a bleak coverage

Screaming through dry wall cracks, pink as sex

And wet, like health, like water on an electric razor,

When the thought soared through your mind,

“What if I got electrocuted,” spurred by a loud click,

Once-unique, but otherwise completely quiet.


A few spoonfuls of ice cream, temporary comfort,

Momentary solidarity, an oppressive fat in the future,

A waiting house for one man, sitting patiently till

That gratification of fooling her trust again wears thin,

Again, disconnect ricocheted against the wall



Discomforted, you and I look up to regard the reader,

Slamming us unceremoniously in the present,

My hindsight set on tomorrow’s class room,

Which will happen tomorrow for ever,

Which won’t make more sense then than it does now,

Which splits us right down the center.


Silver stainless precious metal urn for mixing

Lilies, china, urine, a parallelogram made of cocaine,

Bright lights, cheap delights, insomniac fights, gay rights,

Untold smiles, long red miles, and too many files,

To get yourself out of this jail, this time. 

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