“Food for Thought”

I am alive.

I am silence.

I’m still alive.

Only silence.

Life lines.

Meaning of life.

Does speaking make you alive?

Only just,

only just,

only just.

Just look at how made of lines I am.

I am alive.

I am alive.

But I don’t feel it.

Sometimes

I am silence.

Life lines.

A funny word.

A concept.

Does that make me alive?

Only just.

Only just.

 

“Today”

When does it

stop sounding so serious?

When does it finally end

On a high note

curled up in someone else’s bed?

I don’t know if I should accept that.

A bright shiny skyline

hanging on someone else’s clothesline.

Severe

sincerity as a means to tell myself

I am alive.

The truth is

in the differences trapped

In my eyes.

There’s so much fear.

 

 

“Pre-Op”

I didn’t know

I was waiting for something

with two eyes and a grin

to swallow me up

Never spit me out.

I feel Not Myself

standing on a bulbous forked tongue.

Disheveled is a good word

I threw it in the river

with those fish who like to watch their own

suicides on live T.V.

I couldn’t find a note.

Someone’s mother was crying

in a Las Vegas hotel room

trapped by a bright red lotus

whose teeth I later sold.

I dreamed I was surgeon

operating on a Dead Man.

 

 

“Filigree Paper”

How would you feel

about lying

On a glass floor

made entirely of cracks?

Would you choke,

lips in a croak,

sending shivers down your own throat?

This is why we can’t have

Nice Things as a means of

communicating with ourselves.

We break them before

we buy them.

I want you to have your

money stuffed and mounted.

SO long as it makes you

feel

better about spending it.

Take some responsibility

instead

it’s free.