The silence, it only needs to remain
Unsaid, amber-yellow streetlamps, broken by red
Green fairy lights, dancing on your skin, an ice-ring
Murderous kiss, with no where left to run to. Nothing
Left, but small red numbers, ticking your fare,
Minutes, cents, ten cents a minute, half a minute
But you don't care (just watch the road, mister). Nothing
Left, but half-drowned static muted wires, same radio stations,
Your life, in one single chair. Cigarettes, side pockets, stealing
Five seconds to breathe. You've seen them all, once, twice, even
More, watched them trash breathe slide over each other drunken in
The back seats, watched the women cry, weeping on a shoulder
Glued to crumbling dead leather and dead jade chains. What about you,
Little angel? Sing your Hosannas and pray pray pray but
Your priests and gods don't hear you anymore, above the din of
Chinese pop, love lost, love found, sex on the back seat. But
After the perfume stops smelling like a funeral (your funeral),
Rub the salt from the deltas around your eyes
Ask yourself who you go home to, even the night
Stops, for worker ants like you.
// I don't like Christmas, but I like taxi drivers. Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye, I still think just one planet's sufficient...
// Incidentally, off to Bangkok (NO STUPID FREUDIAN JOKES, PLSKTHXBAI), 14th to 19th ish, any souvenirs for y'all? Would gladly appreciate hawt swiss boys if any of you can bring back any.
-Cheers!
Bern
2 comments:
it's a good poem- for me, it questions what the whole point of life is. but doesn't answer it...
ehh, believe all you want, but if you're smacking yourself while singing the pie jesu, it's your own fault for smacking yourself.
there's always another witch being burned, another plebian being oppressed, but out of the whole lot there's bound to be a frenchie who puts up a resistance. always hope, but then again there's always the bright side of death.
they do use perfumes at funerals, though. frankincense (and myrrh?).
but everyone wants to live another day. "much of our lives is nothing but stultifying routine". but still press on. gahh, when life seems jolly rotten, there's always something you've forgotten.
i think, hypocritically, that there's enough angst on this blog already.
As long as all the chinese women are burnt up. Or submitted to torture techniques akin to Saw and Saw II which is FSCK evil. Urgh. Rah.
-bern
PS that always lessens angst for me. =D
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