By Arcassin Burnham

Static t.v's,
Stare at it 40 hours and tell me you don't feel them pulling at you,
Bringing you down,
Steal things you found,
Take what your names pronounced,
And for what!
So you could drink your sorrows away,
Devil's nectar eating at your face,
I got three words for you,
Leave me be,
Nor redirecting to you,
I swear Its just me,
Put away all the check books,
Words as blue as the sea,
Blue wine is what I drank,
It feels alright to me.

________


Conflicted,
Misused,
Abandoned,­
A shot in the dark,
But except the sun reflects,
Off the waters only if you tell it no,
Never takes it for an answer, just a blur,
A lost figment,
So your imaginary friends will never accept,
Resentment is not a good thing to throw at anyone,
But if anyone is wrong,
Then they have every right to ignore everyone,
Tie your shoes and run,
Looking around town for a bit of thrill as in fun,
So while its may,
You may believe all your sentences are important,
Hoping writers block will stay,
Only for a couple of minutes and get lost in distant extortion.

Nights are narrated
by the hum from power lines;
the one that is only heard when it is too early,
or too late.

With a full mind, desperate to spill,
collect your thoughts
like water in cupped hands.

Watch as they slip,
drop by drop
through the cracks between your fingers.

Feel the disappointment as you realize
that these feelings
will never be tangible
outside of your own body.
.
Think of the power lines once again,
as they hum,
but only when no one is listening.