Monday, January 16, 2012

more new york pulses

at night i take my eyes out
so that the grey taste in the back of my mouth
goes away.
the heart can be a small soft rose. that is what i want.

come morning i cast a shape of myself into the world, a large bright shape
but realize i cant actually fill it out
and i am too dark
i shouldnt have to be bigger than i am,
or smaller.

thinking of rose on the titanic smoking a cigarette being bored as fuck
being exactly where she and everyone else thought she should be.
how many of us have felt like running in the fancy gown of our life
toward death.
i see everything this dramatically.
even in such proximity to the end there are a million and more
moments between you and it
something will happen.

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