Reflections

Sunday, August 11, 2013

Nicotine and Coffee Stains the Fingers

Nicotine and coffee stains the finger..

teeth discolor the view of Sunday morning 
excuses, the subtle urges to have or pretend to feel
urges to know edges begin and end, 
urges to alter sin
otherwise we're lost
capable the view of the supercilious sound 
this macabre sense of nature with no real understanding of tomorrow 
boundaries resound inside and outside the room,
ovaries for my discontent, 
Luteoma my illness, analogous to sin.

I have no real desire to quit or to salvage my shattered shell, 
brief and sooner, now or later 
sounds and imagery tell me 
everyone and nothing means success and failure
the greatest feat is to believe in the hereafter, 
however fleeting the salvation of knowing 
what happens after this, doing for the self, 
masturbating the mind before someone else can.

I’m just like you in that regard, 
a player of players, a mask that serves a single purpose 
doing to get the day going, night moves toward order.  
words ahead of the lost way people forget why 
they are here, 
children are less critical and that is good 
older people are more critical and that too is good.


Afraid of fitting in and not fitting in 
when 
none of this could possibly matter 
the end is near and dreams aren’t 
predictions, specifically simple slices of things 
how seldom distract but always adhere 
these moments of years.

Nicotine and coffee stains the fingers as teeth discolor
Sunday morning excuses
buttered subtle urges to have
urges to believe 
urges to understand the consequences, 
the greatest hereafter, however fleeting the salvation of knowing what happens after this, 
these boundaries 
inside and outside 
analogous to fingertips.

Assuming -  sometime in March 1999

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