Sal Gelles

Sal Gelles Aug 2013

Untitled

it sickens me;
the lack of correction
in grammar,
in punctuation,
in style,
and in titling.

it disgusts me;
the apathy
and support
that go along with
spilling any idea
out; vulnerability
shouldn't be praised,
as it should be sculpted
and shaped, communally.

a sociopath's political piece

Sal Gelles Aug 2013

forget my motives

when asked what i ever mean,
i can never answer honestly;
honestly, i have no idea myself,
but then again, who does?

to mean anything seems redundant;
purpose is given without hesitation
to everything we create, we are.
we're creating our own meanings,

*driven mad by our own motives.

Sal Gelles Aug 2013

the galaxy's ringing in her ears

should she ever listen,
the cosmos would play her a song
of stars dust moving along.
if she ever heard it,
the sun would hum her to her soon,
and the asteroids would pick up the tune.
had she ever caught it,
it would be sure to blow her mind;
the way things move out there in time
would catch her in key
and sway her with its beautiful melody.

~i'd chisel my proposal in the moon~
~and hope you'd look up one night~
~to catch my love, the shooting star~
~before it ever could get out of sight~

Sal Gelles Aug 2013

gas

gas in the motorhome
just about ready to roam
where ever the catalogue says
and we fly around all the bends
                                                      heading to some sanctity
                                                       while the craziness takes over for a while.
comfort the pedal
as we meddle
with the ideas of prosperity
in another definition of integrity
                                                      *lost souls searching
                                                      for another reason to not drive us all off the road

Sal Gelles Aug 2013

the last of my brandy

each sip, succulent, powerful,
until the finishing drops,
lingering, taunting, provocative,
all make their way to my mind.

each hit off this cigarette,
burning deeply, cancer-ridden,
deliciously curves my appetite
to the skew i've taken against myself:

inhumane in the disdain for myself, my existential ideals push themselves through me.

every blink, second
brings about refreshening,
uplifting, unrelenting, and deathly
eye-opening thought processes.

the last time i tried,
passively, obsessively, partially
only half-heartedly, i was found
stuck with half of my heart gone.

*i'd hate anything hateful you'd ever have to throw at me, but i'm willing to listen.

Sal Gelles Aug 2013

conception

undeniably vast and gracious
the life ahead is better than that behind;
filled with moments of variety,
various times make various memories.
we're left with the best to remind us of the worst.

Sal Gelles Jul 2013

my theory on strings

Can you move your limbs separately?
Are they pulled by some invisible string?
Do you own your own voice?
Or is it somebody else using it
every chance they can to just sing?

Have you ever felt truly freed?
Were you ever able to think on your own?
Are you the one working every digit,
every finger, every push, and pull
to that person you’ve been trying to phone?

What will you say finally,
Once they pick up on the other end?
Is there any specific reason you’ve called?
Or were you just bored, tired,
and looking for somebody you’d believe was a friend?

Are you free?
Have you freed yourself?
How did you do it?
I’ve tried for years and can’t find the scissors
To cut the strings I’ve tied to myself.