A rum bottle slowly imploding in on itself for a universe – you told me that was how you were born.
If Man wants to be soothed, Man avoids the trampling, follows the drumming
thrumming beats, and Man finds peace in a glass bottle full of itself. Artic ocean
ease in a cupped hand, press into a paper and find release.
Snap, there’s a picture, Man takes it to a pin and lets it sit for the world, meaning
nothing to Man other than perhaps an igloo or self-royalty dream.
I’ll take all the dark parts of your heart for you, She said with a kiss, knowing full
well that he would have nothing left.
That boy talked to Man and they had a good conversation they could drown in.
Spectacles skewed and clothes everywhere, a swarm of self pity breathing fresh snow air.
Man said, sorry, I can’t feel.
“Who are we?”
Man said, shhhh, you know I can’t hear you; I can’t feel.
So just miss me hard.
http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/11/human-qualities.html