“static/silk”
and we should throw static at silk
sniffling our way underground
as if we should die of shock
if our spirit were willing to do what we asked it to
the wood pile piled high with aggresion
light as air but ready to burst
at any moment we will
shrug off our desires and discover new burdens
this is the way we wish we could confront our deities
like we could warm up to the sun, and eat it
the literal truth is much less articulate
like rubbing a new wound in old milk
if I tried harder would it get me any further?
I’m afraid there might be some things I’m too small to compete with
I’ve counted each minute of desperation
I’ve found answers but they only precede new questions
This is likely going to be the opening piece in my next chapbook. It's from March '08, I think. It fits well with my current mood.
This poem sounds like you've got quite a Quest ahead of you, man. Bon Voyage.
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