Sep 2016
S is the 19th letter of the alphabet.
I had to count twice on my fingers to be sure of that.
It glues together many, many words.
It fixes people to the walls.
It shrivels fruit in the bowl.
It sticks us all in the same soup (****).
Let's swim.
You have 19 reasons to die,
written out like manuscripts in manila folders
populating a small cubicle containing your confidence
pasted to the walls, and neatly nested on the next door desk
at least you told someone.
The logic of your feeling breathing life into the spreadsheet,
The simple clicks of order covering up the shame of dead weeks
Day in Day out working toward a little more
Waiting for the future where the ability to break out is yours.
Cage around each arm. Suffering in small doses.
Never overwhelming the epicenter.
I have 19 reasons to die.
Scrawled in sidewalk chalk on 17th street.
Ringing in the ears of all my close relatives and their next of kin.
They say, "Hurry up and usher in the next generation so we can stop worrying about fixing yours."
The crumpled cover letters in my compactor spell pure love, and the reasons it's never noticed.
Simplicity in disarray, a life of static colors. Repugnant sorrow odors.
I am the only town crier left in this town.
Always complete but never fulfilled.
The sad sequel to a Mexican standoff with a self-referential story.
Narcissism and narcotics.
Nihilism and Mnemonics.
Space and the stuff of the stars.
Love and the war of the heart.
S is the 19th letter of PSEUDOPSEUDOHYPOPARATHYROIDISM
No it's not but what a great word.
No it's not but aren't you glad you tried to count?
No it's not but aren't you satisfied with yourself for trying to decipher?
No it isn't and wasn't it worth it to try to speak the sounds?
No it is not and wasn't it the sibilance in your mouth worth every second?
No it is not thank you come again have you had your fill when we're only 19/26?
Reasons to live:
Seemingly unneeded. We're here aren't we? Doing what we could only be meant to do.
R is the real 19th letter.
One more would have been S.
But you'd never know if you didn't count.
So let's count.
Ready?
3...2...1...
I had to count twice on my fingers to be sure of that.
It glues together many, many words.
It fixes people to the walls.
It shrivels fruit in the bowl.
It sticks us all in the same soup (****).
Let's swim.
You have 19 reasons to die,
written out like manuscripts in manila folders
populating a small cubicle containing your confidence
pasted to the walls, and neatly nested on the next door desk
at least you told someone.
The logic of your feeling breathing life into the spreadsheet,
The simple clicks of order covering up the shame of dead weeks
Day in Day out working toward a little more
Waiting for the future where the ability to break out is yours.
Cage around each arm. Suffering in small doses.
Never overwhelming the epicenter.
I have 19 reasons to die.
Scrawled in sidewalk chalk on 17th street.
Ringing in the ears of all my close relatives and their next of kin.
They say, "Hurry up and usher in the next generation so we can stop worrying about fixing yours."
The crumpled cover letters in my compactor spell pure love, and the reasons it's never noticed.
Simplicity in disarray, a life of static colors. Repugnant sorrow odors.
I am the only town crier left in this town.
Always complete but never fulfilled.
The sad sequel to a Mexican standoff with a self-referential story.
Narcissism and narcotics.
Nihilism and Mnemonics.
Space and the stuff of the stars.
Love and the war of the heart.
S is the 19th letter of PSEUDOPSEUDOHYPOPARATHYROIDISM
No it's not but what a great word.
No it's not but aren't you glad you tried to count?
No it's not but aren't you satisfied with yourself for trying to decipher?
No it isn't and wasn't it worth it to try to speak the sounds?
No it is not and wasn't it the sibilance in your mouth worth every second?
No it is not thank you come again have you had your fill when we're only 19/26?
Reasons to live:
Seemingly unneeded. We're here aren't we? Doing what we could only be meant to do.
R is the real 19th letter.
One more would have been S.
But you'd never know if you didn't count.
So let's count.
Ready?
3...2...1...
Dedicated to a dearest.
