I guess you could say ink and paper make the writer, and I guess that's why I choose not to use them.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Competing Narratives
These things are quite juvenile.
Some operate without us.
Fostered by those who love, not knowing. Those unaccustomed to conscious thought.
ignore the signs, the murmur, the crashing silence. Waiting.
An arrangement of flowers, on the surface, dew covered and
blighted by age, water, thirst, hunger
a truth, unwarranted.
Two giants, risen, worshiped. Loved. Like Gods but held. In their hands
Loved. In their arms, rotten, Loved.
A truth denied. The blue light of televisions, in constant motion,
flicker, flicker, die. Unchanged, unmoved, Blue.
Transitional, untouched, imploring. Walking high rise morality
thunderous applause.
Hold your ears, the blue penetrates them. A memory. Compulsory
Compulsive. Bleeding into you. Me. I. We.
Voices in the woods, paper burning,
burning your eyes, sweet to smell,
Hot.
On your face it burns. Bathing you....Me? Which...?
Words. Orders. Lives. Good. Bad. Toxic. Intoxicating.
Fortunate. Us. Charming. Favor. Blue.
Alive.
Dead.
A tunnel, unending. A beacon.
A blue light, artificial. Watching.
Follow.
Follow.
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