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aj-robertsonPoems
The way the clock ticks Smooth away Spirits dry   Slightly tender ears Become another breath A breath a sigh a mess to deal with A test of zeal & a box of papers   strewn left & right   torn & strung about to conceal   the floor the door the walls & the ceiling naked peach & sweating standing still like a post, but turning around slowly internally putting on graces & smiling, sniffing the glass before frowning & commenting on the values of waiting, or diving right into the chasm of debt,     he looks handsome & brutish   like a man best used for feeding   himself, feeding someone else   mere feed     he was food   a cow in a pasture devouring to continue the feeding for some dollars each day increasing ‘no worries mate’ a gesture to continue moving there’s less to do ensuing deadlines wave beside the days arrive sequentially, enduring through them dutifully     like you must red stars of sparks string off his limbs & burn holes in the papers brown cigarette burns widen & envelop the papers that are small, the bigger ones catch alight & fall to the floor & it spreads to the door the walls & the ceiling now naked & blue & burning the red & yellow flame rises high a candle stands spinning screaming & fighting & running from foe who will eat him, or **** him he sleeps shivering under stars burning brighter than his own & the papers are gone   so few left to feed the fire     he collapses in a heap of soot & ash he lies naked & black & steaming panting & huffing like a kid on a balloon on hands & knees observes the wreck & sighs to clean the mess before he becomes accustomed or bored   he swings a broom around   and a dust pan handily collects the soot & the wreck doesn’t seem so bad it still stands & he stays there in a darken pit, a hole of charred plaster & carpet,   it seems OK so he stays there all along the street the candles are snuffed out they still stand so they stay there in a row toe to toe all together in compartments of a box of matches
0
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
A box of Matches
The way the clock ticks Smooth away Spirits dry   Slightly tender ears Become another breath A breath a sigh a mess to deal with A test of zeal & a box of papers   strewn left & right   torn & strung about to conceal   the floor the door the walls & the ceiling naked peach & sweating standing still like a post, but turning around slowly internally putting on graces & smiling, sniffing the glass before frowning & commenting on the values of waiting, or diving right into the chasm of debt,     he looks handsome & brutish   like a man best used for feeding   himself, feeding someone else   mere feed     he was food   a cow in a pasture devouring to continue the feeding for some dollars each day increasing ‘no worries mate’ a gesture to continue moving there’s less to do ensuing deadlines wave beside the days arrive sequentially, enduring through them dutifully     like you must red stars of sparks string off his limbs & burn holes in the papers brown cigarette burns widen & envelop the papers that are small, the bigger ones catch alight & fall to the floor & it spreads to the door the walls & the ceiling now naked & blue & burning the red & yellow flame rises high a candle stands spinning screaming & fighting & running from foe who will eat him, or **** him he sleeps shivering under stars burning brighter than his own & the papers are gone   so few left to feed the fire     he collapses in a heap of soot & ash he lies naked & black & steaming panting & huffing like a kid on a balloon on hands & knees observes the wreck & sighs to clean the mess before he becomes accustomed or bored   he swings a broom around   and a dust pan handily collects the soot & the wreck doesn’t seem so bad it still stands & he stays there in a darken pit, a hole of charred plaster & carpet,   it seems OK so he stays there all along the street the candles are snuffed out they still stand so they stay there in a row toe to toe all together in compartments of a box of matches
aj-robertson
Written by
aj-robertson
Australian
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
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