We Only Fall Down Because We Need a New Up

22 04 2009

I feel a sudden sexual urge to change the shape of my tomorrow.

To construct a boney tower to affix my yesterdays,

and climb it; ever higher, racing the brightness up the spire,

where low will my head hang as the daylight dies again.

There; shoulders slack and silent for the violent death of quiet

I will tumble toward tomorrow from someone elses yesterday.

A fictional addiction: my Self as just the victim

to the handy predilections of a myopic kind of me.

The sun can’t make the shadows, just the context for their patterns

a mere chalklined apparatus for the tears that time displays.

Collecting in square puddles at the bases of cubed brothers

it’s in the darkness we discover what we’re truly meant to see.

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