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that's the way it came out,
i was typing in my username,
and feeling empty.
there is coffee breathing loud beside me,
and my throat is dry, i can't
look at the carpet without seeing swirls
of light, drifting patterns,
granules staining vision,
won't sleep, cannot dream without
seeing myself caught in my life,
stuck in the soft furs of what
i know, and thinking that they
are dumb, rooted, routined.
that i am annealed in the fires
of creation is a crock,
i am mundane, i am air
and flesh and despair.
i can't stroke my pliant tool
without being somewhat dissatisfied
with its ever profound product
of replication drying like cement
over my stomach.
cum see the fool! cum watch
him live like ant, hunt like
donkey for words, chase
windmills through horizons of
ash. crash out on couch
and sleep,
dream a little 'bout sex,
a bit about doing what has already
been done, think dirt,
enliven the grass with
sticky blood,
call my body art as i
thrash it with my nothingness.

19 Oct 09

Rated 9.5 (9.3) by 2 users.
Active (2): 9, 10
Inactive (1): 9

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i bet there are times when the pliant
thing is as stiff as a set of pliers.

yore broody art ease messing width
yore head, yes, that head, and my-inn.

; )
 — fractalcore

btw, |29 is a bit unnecessary and should go.
the line next to it then should read something
like 'and dream a bit about what has already'.
what do you think?

: )
 — fractalcore

this is a yonwondering thought, i think
seems to about self

live like ant?
hunt like a donkey?

i am curious to understand this. maybe you dont know

well i do like this crazy stitching of letters.
 — Liliana

the title sorry there ant man, no go onthe title
can you come up with something better?
ah ha i see now

deformed lion!
 — Liliana

I like your poem-
though I can't tell you exactly why...
interesting to see
into your mind
for a short time...
nice write
 — JKWeb