Sunday, December 26, 2010

a christmas eve insomniac love poem

Saturday aching numbness
ahh dead beat street bedpan
begging man
cut at the feet of a broken pane
shards of his crystal eyes blue hazed
raining lemonade
oxidizing the group ethic of panic
we lack wit to come upon a fat token in path
but keep toking and walk past with my roach-clip
and zipped up eyes
unzipping dirty denim revealing my venom
filled syringe of flesh
penetrating lids and burning dark circles
into them
sacred Sunday morning at the hour
my offering on the cloth
thanks to digital illusion again
I have been tricked into the tiny death
by the slick whip of ideas and your warm sigh
pull me into dreams with intimate imagery
your face and body, surrealistically beautiful in my minds eye
to think that I could never be with you
makes me want to die now quickly in this empty bed of cum and sweat
is it really so impossible?
do I chase in circles for ribbons of a mirrored self-reflecting sunscreen?
I try to apply the lotion slowly but I’m busy in the blue moonlight howling down the valley to all other brothers in arms
step up
and stop fucking it for the rest of us
I try to stay away
and stop thinking of you
but what use is lying alone to myself?

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