Not_Trapped
11-29-2005, 11:29 PM
we watch it as it passes before us
as we wither to the ground . . . our clothes
wrinkle to the floor into a neat pile
like a demolished building
my head, heavy with missing memories
(the ones wished to be forgotten;
the kind for which signs will never be made),
comes crashing down with migrainesque pain
the pondering of "What is it?"
lobs bombs which make craters,
and little neuronal fingers reach in to
take charge from the remembering centers
to provide the eternal sunshine
for a soon to be spotless mind.
29 novembre 2005
as we wither to the ground . . . our clothes
wrinkle to the floor into a neat pile
like a demolished building
my head, heavy with missing memories
(the ones wished to be forgotten;
the kind for which signs will never be made),
comes crashing down with migrainesque pain
the pondering of "What is it?"
lobs bombs which make craters,
and little neuronal fingers reach in to
take charge from the remembering centers
to provide the eternal sunshine
for a soon to be spotless mind.
29 novembre 2005