The future is for ghosts.
Breeding placidly behind screens.
Electronic doubles, dead echoes,
Hollow shells of familiarity.
My mind is a ghost.
My body an echo.
Just a lump of days gone by
Silence in me
as my eyes open
to a world,
to a life
that I struggle
to make better,
so that I might finally
taste the breath of freedom.
I went to hit record, where dreams are alive
And let my heart wrap its arms around the world
And tell all that I kept buried deep inside
And finally feel what it’s like to be alive
Cause in my head there’s that waiting room
Where I have been trapped from moving on
Why does the hierarchy matter so? Calico adage flows
down from prose addled with salvaged bones and an amber glow
Egyptologist went to school off a Cambridge loan, studying by a lamp at home
What asphyxiated mantra lies beneath the sandy knoll of the Sphinx
which can’t be known through a glyph, since in summertime I fled
Is it justified to call me a necrophiliac if I elect to mummify the dead?
They’re getting older,
five brothers and sisters,
all with degrees, jobs, families,
nice homes, good lives, happier
than most except when they must
fly to the home of their childhood
and settle their mother’s estate.
blood, the good Christian
angry at his lack of power, skin broken
under the onslaught of memories, terror and omniscience
transferred to different targets:
me. wings pump
when I talk but won’t take me away.
he doesn’t understand me…
I do not like pomegranate
Theres a reason but I don’t understand it
Its a four syllable word I think
Just let me see I’ll take a minute
Pal… mer… grand… it
Yes sir, that is it
And I like words like that
Generally that is but
Its the definition what
Sticks you in the butt
If you are LIFE
I shall dress like a sunbeam.
If you are DEATH
I shall grow whispering wings.
If you are JOY
I shall fling a scarlet sash around my shoulders.
If you are PAIN
I shall wear mud boots.