"the rules of thirds are all over my hands"
said the pretty person with paintbrush antennae
"and i can't shake
them off for
twice the life
of me!"
and feet crossed and crissed
over and over as they tiptoed toward
each other,
a scimitar hiding in the grassy
bristles like
a cat on the prowl
on the desert plain of his heart.
but here i am carrying my thrice-aforetimed,
left-handed,
left-footed,
left-hearted talking tongue,
acting like i can smudge and shade
the conversation in such a way that convinces them all
that they're
actually all on a single piece of paper.
and i ctrl-z,
ctrl-z,
ctrl-z
you all the way back
to me with my self-control; the
alternative only
one key away and the outerspace-bar only one
further- i walk at the sky
and build brick walls on my shoulders
just to keep me focused
on the far away as i breathe
in either either or either, my
eyes shut to keep
them focused on the
shadows... back to ground... i
push my self through the sand and
wonder why i ever
left my hand and my foot
and my heart behind.
the cursor blinks . . . I
taking off your strings does not make you a real boy.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
edge of Physics
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