"I said, there is home."
to nobody.
different names never changed
a **** thing.
we could see no people
to/who/that learn how idle
doesn't mean "still".
they've made a god of progress;
progress is toothpaste in a sink.
who couldve sown those ideas
together had they not been
all blinking buzzing neon sign
in the window of the page?
probably quite alot of folks
had they not been so busy
wiping dried blue Colgate off
of porcelain.
simple, remember?
so it goes.
always.
dosey doe down long hallways,
around puddles of ****,
singing songs long faded
to ambient noise.
please, mumble a myth for the void to posion.
the void in your avoidance.
the void in the poignancy.
the void on the points of stolen steak knives stuck in the hearts of the strigoi
shuffling outside our windows
day and night.
drip gold from the mouths of memorial statues,
we need that.
badly.
I cut up to make new connections in MY network of association. anytime there is rigidity it means that's how the words were on the page. if you enjoy this aimlessness then you are blood of my blood. the majority dont get it because they think something is here to "get". this is the 3rd cut ive posted here that came from Faulkner's Light In August. I cant stand Faulkner. so I vandalize his work. hate me. I love it. I love all of you.
