general devastation, which words fail to convey, but oh well.

Monday, November 3, 2008 8:42:54 PM

i spend all of these days outwitting the edge, orbiting the city, leaning from a wind, the incurable point that i am wandering. or swinging. or rocking in one place like an injured child
like the motion inside a cage made of windows
please let the day be over

i am so alone, i will say it plainly. it will not wear the glittery enchantment of images anyway, there is too much apparent. again and again i have isolated myself in a way that has no loyalties, not art, not song, not cynicism,
and i am sorry


i would scratch a hole in my head, pry out the piece that is screaming, hold my breath in the other hand, make two fists, be fiercely still
be nothing

i would confess everything
i would thaw into the floor through my eyes, i would run like a machine, to feel nothing of my bones crashing
i would tower like a god, to see everything around the pain and believe that it is small


what have i done?
(this is the voice that comes out of me)
i don’t know what is joyful
i don’t know what is joyful.


there is nothing trustworthy.

i don’t know who i am, i don’t know what i love. everything is a memory, or a tale. or i faked it. yes, i faked it. i pretended that i had enough or knew enough or was enough to be named in some way, but now i am not named in any way, and i can only see the holes. like outlets. like gulfs.
doesn’t that make sense? won’t you agree, and then i will not be invisible?
and then?

everything goes away.
i have no account of myself at any stage in time. all of my records are crafted, or lost. how is this possible? what will it bear on me? i have gaped at a burning screen of my life, of my love, until everything was white. there has been damage. my sockets bleed clear.


(this is the voice that comes out of me)
what am i going to do
what am i going to do

and other things, like:
oh god

and
there is no one here


i cannot think of what is next. i tremor my knees under tables and swallow so much coffee when my guts are already spilling and watch my own image on glossy surfaces. i wake in the morning with anxiety for dreams. the darkness concerns me. there is only the shadow of obligation. of constancy. devotion plays against time.
you are not reliable.
i am not reliable.

i am imitating versions of a person in a world, but none of it is sincere. bumper stickers have more integrity. i have thought of this.


it is always over.
that's all.


.