in the next sixty years and how I pray just
so one day I can find them, trashed, smiling,
face up in the middle of the most perfect of
filthy city streets.
its frightening to wonder if these arms will
ever support shoulders that display a mind
of its own because everything I learn you
can probably catch wind of on the internet
in the next twenty years.
was I a burned out light bulb
or just a fluorescent failure
from the beginning?
these things I'll ask, or rather just
think about on my death bed
which will probably be next to a
bus somewhere in Indiana in front
of a crowd of twenty or thirty people
who never met me, never read me,
never saw deeper than the holes
inside my head.
No comments:
Post a Comment