Monday, May 4, 2009

Untitled

I have been looking at the paper long enough to know I cannot re-create you. Unlike my tried words, charcoal and spit I cannot cross you out, rub you out or dry you out. You are not a synonym, a shade or unpalatable. So what do I do with you? I will do anything to re-create you. Or destroy you. You are the enchanted, haunting wraith of my conscience, or sub-conscience, or whatever the hell else it is that distorts me. I have no idea what you are anymore, or what you meant to me. But I need you on this paper, on my wall as you are. Then I will turn off the lights and throw darts. Or enshrine you with candles. I don't know which. But one or the other needs to happen because I can't keep waking up like this. The kids are getting worried.

4 comments:

  1. Great piece. Whatever of whoever this is about, just let it go. It seems far away now. Write it down and send it far away. Great writing.

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  2. Shrines are sickening!

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  3. I love shrines; however, I have decided to throw darts

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