| Athens My head is filled with ancient things
The city in ruin
The dust, aching to move upwards.
Gods falling on their knees
In Olympic ruin
and scrap metal.
We've come full circle
You came and I left
On borrowed time
In a post-modern fantasy
Constructing civil liberties
To free ourselves from ourselves
And capture an audience of unborn soldiers
Marching to the crossroads of creation
Following the bouncing silicon balls.
We were put here to repeat ourselves
If we don't, no one will listen
We were put here to repeat ourselves
To defeat ourselves in cyclical ceremony
Hitching a ride on the backs of our mistakes.
|
The Flash of the First World
A series of snapshots
Strung together to create my ego,
The daylight breaking through
into mid-morning mourning.
I know I'm alive
Because I wish I was dead.
Because I want you to feel me
Carrying the weight of three thousand years
Of seconds
Of instantaneous second dimensions
Of toppling weightless impressions
Where your hands don't touch.
Beneath the porn-star facade
Where we're waiting to play the last card
So you can tell me where to stand
senselessly sighing
For your lying
For this game that has me dying
for a flash of reality
So you can leave me be.
|
There is nothing I can do
I grab my skin and pull
I slice. I spill my guts.
But still I hurt from the inside out
And heal from the outside in.
Please show me somewhere to begin
When the page won't cut through
to my skin. To the lessons I've been taught
Because I don't know what I want
And I can't see how I feel.
Can I reify my life?
And if I could, what would it be?
Would I continue to be me?
Am I the object of my core?
Am I spilling words onto the page
Or spilling blood onto the floor?
|
Scars
Why am I looking at you with regret?
With guilt for the absence in my presence,
for the conveyer of scenery
that runs through my will.
For the cup I can never fill
draining dry my pallette
cracking off the black and white
until even the carcass is eaten away.
Is it a cleansing? A rebirth?
Or the decomposition of a body unwilling to feel.
A pile of scar tissue after every pore
has been drained of its flesh.
A bottomless refill of stimulation
running over into sex and mutilation,
step away from my imagination
before you leave with it.
|
