aftertastes

liar...hypocrit... ping pong'd words paint the walls of the best western to rest beside prints of seascapes and floral arrangements portable cd player volume increases to drown out the deadly sin intentions times seven short bus helmets lay in false sheets and rest on the flimsy bed of nails i knew baby brown couldn't reflect the truth from the begining watchin the watercolor'd sepias and burnt siennas drip out of open palms stigmata'd illusions captured on blockbuster posters irises avoid to mingle with the disregarded routine tears flow in alphabet reconstructions leavin cinnamon traced footprints on fresh tar'd streets no traffic though echoes, in my head with trauma room repeats of one regret... recallin no more times on a waterbed... in a restaurant... at a... curiosity and carin 've obviously been left on the houses trim til next season lethargic innovations replace only the necessary number of memories to again, merge into concrete realizations still sore and batter'd hobblin up Q-bert's pyramid with chance and a single quarter left i've inhaled solidity of healin scars whispered names in the darkness of wine filled glasses and play-doh shaped my face into Banana Republic mannequin form glass reflections of outside anonymity and my back on the bricks layed after the bridges were erased in comin nonresolutions i tried to tear them down only hearin silent hours with my red ribbon'd tracers wrappin my fingertips hands arms my soul with a meat cleaver no more faux fur coat thrown over my anemic personality and erratic body seizures self absorption thoughts spark the clonin process missin technological protocols of socialization pushin consideration into toilet paper with flush'd self made martyr dreams the faces at a carnival fun house as dyslexic as what is lookin into the picture spoken word poisons of the "oh, so talent'd...experienced..." to kill the once self revived adverse midnight rose secrets hidden in glances and pain in consciousness of singularity i am truly ___________ fill in the blank if you like my cd player hasn't skip'd on me but then again i hear nothing except my buildin block fantasies Written February 11th, 2002 © on Feb 11 2002 11:39 AM PST   17 • 0 • 1