Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

June 01, 2004

Poet in the City

Just take a look at me, Iím city crushed!
My nerves as wrung-out anxious as a doll
Tear twisted by small shaking hands, and hushed
By neon fears, my lips wonít move at all.
Take a good stare: Iím in complete regress.
My brittle ribs, like twelve parentheses,
Hold caffeinated panic, embrace stress,
Contain the sloppy ruby hurt of me.
Fan-fucking-tastic, ainít I? Check me out,
My furtive shadowed eyes like rain on glass.
No sleep last night ó Iíve learned to do without;
Relentlessly, my mind will never rest ó
Always obsessed, forcing my pen to stutter
Divinities my mouthís too torn to utter.

1999. A semi-sonnet from my first year in college. Heehee.

Posted by Delire at June 1, 2004 10:40 PM
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