Archive for February 19th, 2011
Soaking With The Fall
Unique moods, special energy.
Saying no to much of life.
Maybe no energy at all, but slow motion.
Wanting to be entertained, not dead.
Wanting to sit and soak
in room-temperature coffee.
Wanting to dance like a loose rag doll
with the prettiest waitress
at that sloppy diner with fungus.
Listening to The Fall.
Like Bob Dylan, only far more.
Is it far worse?
Keep drilling the monotone at me.
Seeming psychosis,
the kind that can be left behind.
Leaving me almost not wanting,
like a stringy dish cloth
pulled through teeth of a garbage disposal.
Take-and-bake pizza, oven buzzer blows.
Can I take it out, can I cut it up?
The Fall gives me that poisoned feel.
It is good poisoned,
like when no one needs you,
no one loves you,
no one knows where you are,
no one wants you.
Looser than my normal slouch,
gooey liquid slowly descending
around all sides of the chair.
My body, a shaky, sweaty, dead blanket.
Delusional Difficulties
No fog, all brightness
from a Southeastern, barbed blob
shining up the canal of steep climbing trees.
The day is less ponderous,
clouds of green velvet balloons lifting feet.
Longer days and warmer air delivering sanity.
Mind cooks scenes for bitter accompaniment.
Dark wool blankets are plaguing, not melting,
requesting a dimmer view of the world,
the battle which might be won.
Lonely crawl in a twenty-five,
blue truck forgetting a yield at a stop,
black streaks hide me and shield me
in a phony world full of my delusions.
Channels in concrete smash them all
tear my skin as I am dragged ruthlessly.
All of this, and the ’72, red, smashed Ford pickup
angrily coming at my trunk with death is false.
I celebrate all that seems to flow,
that appears to tug me through pinholes.
The streaking black is my false coffin.
I would stay right here until they need
the “real” coffin that encloses the emptiness
that will somehow, someday very soon,
stop flowing.
stillfugue 