The right face could start it off, or perhaps not; maybe
it would just be folded and tucked
into the backpockets of the,
crowds, and not change the state of things
at all. There are a few truths I am sure of. Like,
night is different than day,
and, if prepared
right, blue can taste like red. That’s mostly it.
I love and hate this endless weave
and pattern of things. Lies, blood,
thirty weight oil and the latest SpiderMan movie leak
like grease from where my face should be. What is suppose
to happen next? But if I had the right eyes, nose, and
smile I would be approachable. Even God might come down,
kiss my face, and though I reeked of shit and dying
sins, forgive me
for whatever it was I’d done. He might gaze
into these new eyes of mine saying exactly the
words I was dying to hear.
Or, perhaps not.
Author notes
This is from picture #2.
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Sad
Pretty mean little contest girl huh? To think that this poem says exactly what she may have needed to hear. ha ha. But then the last line was reproduced in her clever powertrip. Back to the poem, very sad...I hope you receive the kiss on the face, shit or no shit, it is not in my opinion due to the mask, but the unmasking that reveals our true identities. Reflective write for me on redemption and the confusion thereof.
Castaway
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< lashing out?
You seem to be just another small guy on a power trip. 'Oh kick me in the shins and tell me you're too bored after one line to read more, but please give me those contest points!!'- That's bullshit. (undoubtedly at the heart of your little rebellion with life & authority your major complaint comes down to a simple: You want the power. You turn yourself into a walking, talking sterotype. But you can do much better if you try.) I didn't deserve to get booted for responding to your being rude. But that's how it goes, I'll shut the fuck up. You have an interesting set of pictures. Dave -
< speechless, almost.
I had such a nasty response but have been battling this tendancy in me to react in this way. If you should overcome your ADD handicap for a moment and stoop to wipe your buttocks with my poems first line, or even second, in the thought you were purifying and cleansing the words I'd soiled in my writing, I would bow in gratitude for your noticing me.
There, that's better, nicer, kinder, than what I did have down.
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