in a few hours
Kwyjibo
Posts: 662
in a few hours you'll see
that I am death
and you have brought me
in a few hours you'll know
that I am time
and I am no more
in a few hours blood will drip
not from the heart
but from the wrists
in a few hours they'll cry
but not a tear will fall
from your fucking eyes
in a few hours you'll give up
and I'll thank God
that I wasn't enough
in a few hours you'll call
I'll answer the phone
and tell you to fuck off
that I am death
and you have brought me
in a few hours you'll know
that I am time
and I am no more
in a few hours blood will drip
not from the heart
but from the wrists
in a few hours they'll cry
but not a tear will fall
from your fucking eyes
in a few hours you'll give up
and I'll thank God
that I wasn't enough
in a few hours you'll call
I'll answer the phone
and tell you to fuck off
The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
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However, I might say that it seems a tad off to me. No single individual is united in and of themselves by anything other than their skin. Were they to actually unite with anything in their environment of any given importance, they should have to go nova. A collapsing star, for one final moment I think, finally understands exactly what it is and what it is for... just before it unites so completely within itself it attracts the rest of the universe to all ends, regardless of creed, mass, substance. It could be stated that singular unity could be the highest abstract expression of egocentrism there can be.
Or it could merely be the painter who licks his paintbrush, the tumeric tempura textured tongue.
yeah it could be that.
This sad and angry poem needs to be kissed goodnight just once and perhaps the wounds would begin to heal and there would be no need to sew up wrists after the phone is hung up... and there would be no need to repaint the walls after a deed is done.
Dying on paper. It's the only way to live.
actually its a pavement song
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
Only joking. Drank the wine last night. Where's that song from, then?
don't care. I stand by what I said regardless.
Pavement, take notice.
That's the fakkin' spirit!
dear GOD, as in DIOS MIO finsy, please, if you're going to pick on me at this time of night, pass the g'd'm wine.
then we may remain friends for it.
and Kwyjibo, I meant no offense, which I think SHOULD be clear, but I wanted it known.
And now I will stop sullying your thread.
WHERE'S THE FACKIN WINE
I was writing an essay
about descriptive bibliography's contribution
to the understanding
of the physical semiotics of the book
in conveying the social codificatory process
of the text
and now
I am handing seta
virtual wine
a very angry angry poem
even if it felt like controlled&supressed anger - the kind that scares you the most
WELL I SWEAR THAT THE WHOLE 5-4=unity thing was in there.
so...
you know...
any way...