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o fortunaBro   ken

These strings
These appendages
Weep ing
             disorderly
and begging, mewling
Panicked and fragile

Opening these jaws just to crush
                                                  down
                                                     upon bone and will
Desperate, hollow
Nothing is worse than the comfort of this

horrible recognition

Meaninglessness slicked and slathered:
Glass-plated and reflecting these disguises

                                                         Darkness consumes,
                                                                         confounds

Bores deep and pushes har
savage
this is a parasite -

you shaped it,
taught it hunger.
with a vampire’s kiss,
it vacantly devours.

your bastard child smiles crookedly at me.
i shiver, knowing i had once suckled it:
an act of well-intentioned desperation.
i should have drowned it in the lake when i had the chance
and chosen battle scars over suicide.

in a horrid flicker of eternity,
napalm-bright,
this plague-child consumed me
and in turn was consumed.
i am contagious, and now my kin are infected
with the resurrection of a savage love.
over my dead body: an odeI hate these streets.
I hate the sunsets and sunrises.
I hate the trees, the way they bend and curve and make love to
the light,
which burns everything with ghostly beauty.
I hate the houses and their silent front doors
and windows that know everything that happened.
I hate the familiar traffic and the tall brick buildings downtown.
I hate the big park and that slope and how it’s the perfect place to look at
constellations when the sky is clear
and your mind is full of unsaid names for them;
thankfully

it’s hard to memorize the stars,
so it’s hard to hate them as if each one had broken
your heart.
But the sky
instant messageAnd my father asked me,
“Do you believe in miracles?”
       I was washing the dishes by candle light.
       Each time zone gave back to our Mother for one hour

 a piece,

blackening eyes and turning off the big mechanical voices
that pretend to be alive –
that we let rule us –
but tell me

Is there a right amount of time
            a right way

                                                to mourn?
       For one person?
       For a collective?

Maybe I should cut my hair.

If I throw my computer onto the ground,
                                     into the river,
it will not sing.
It will no
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November 8, 2007
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:iconolobocanta:
...'til your death
do us part


(C) moi, autumn '07
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:icondarknight-stock:
~Darknight-Stock Jan 15, 2008
:clap: nice
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:iconolobocanta:
~OLoboCanta Jan 15, 2008
haha :P
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:iconthatguyonthestreet:
~ThatGuyOnTheStreet Jan 7, 2008
This is awesome.
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:iconolobocanta:
~OLoboCanta Jan 8, 2008
:clap:

haha
thanks so much for checking it oot!
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:iconmay-machin:
*May-Machin Dec 27, 2007  Professional Photographer
nice, its like movie stills.
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:iconolobocanta:
~OLoboCanta Dec 28, 2007
:) thanks man
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:iconphotoscot:
*photoscot Dec 21, 2007
Marvelous!
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:iconolobocanta:
~OLoboCanta Dec 21, 2007
:bow:

i'm so glad you like it. thank you :)
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:iconphotoscot:
*photoscot Dec 21, 2007
You're welcome!!!!
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:iconteabagseatsfetus:
Mood: Love ~TeabagsEatsFetus Dec 17, 2007
:+fav::coffeecup::butterfly::floating::music::star::coffeemachine::bug::heart::flowerpot::butterflytwo::tea:
fucking r8r8r8r8 amazing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111112
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