A Pause

All bottles have roles now: nothing unscientific
Leaves and their spoons always lie prone
The use of naming now elegant like new laundry
Domesticities announce themselves in bombs

Syringes of cancer
Cure and find
No one near this cesspool of bile

I smile
At a dance and pegging I will hold my eyes to
All the splendor of new words and bent steel

Stay undulating against the mothers who sell

Labels: future, poetry, religion, science

Posted by Richard J.A. at 11:24:00 AM | Permalink | Comments

The gathering of each cast
The reshaping meant for bandage
This thinner, some form of acetone, have them
Selves lift sheets of wounds out
The skin ready for new wind, set of brown
You have to rub just as fast though
Scraping won't do because how does it
When around you are digital zeroes.

A pattern of your smile, remnant of lips
Our dance, my shoulder by your cheek
Left open are streets I am walking for home.


The tyranny in this loving has torn sheets
Brought back to use, formless, they have
Acquired licenses to delay sleep
A puncture to paper is its allowance
Have yourself it and staying flat shall

Have no more use to you than tomorrow's paper

Time shall fail, its gravitas a fiction
You only read not on these nights.

Labels: David Foster Wallace

Posted by Richard J.A. at 8:14:00 PM | Permalink | Comments