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[25 May 2006|01:03pm] |
now
somewhere a bird pukes
for its offspring, & an alligator
is eating its'. it is
perfectly natural to
see formless time pass
through over under you, not
in front or behind, as angles
vary & the flux of such is impossible
for humans to measure.
and the wind
over China reminisces your hair
and hard fingers, now
bored with permanent
mountains & seas. you
have peanut butter & bread
crumbs on your face. you
are sound
asleep amid the cacophonous
world. you are
cashing a paycheck. you are
tossing another grain of rice into
another burlap sack. you
are pouring wine. you're
repeating the same story
for a seventh time. you miss
not knowing about time &
its tricks, about life &
its pricks. you miss
the bus again & have
forgotten your cigarettes, locked
out of the house once
more for the sakes of all
the dreamt tomorrows...
you find a few moments to
ponder the world. it is
seven o' clock in the
morning.
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