Highchair

I sit alone

In this confounded chair

Left for eternity

Wanted there.

I sit here alone

And begin to stare

Into eternity,

But it’s not there.

I sit quietly

Lifeless, without peace

Patient for time

For time to cease.

It’s a curse

To be alive,

Sitting, waiting

For hope to thrive.

Published in: on April 24, 1995 at 3:35 am  Comments (1)  
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Cold Kiss

cold-kiss

Taste my breath

In a kiss.

These pale lips,

These bleeding eyes

Can have no more of this

This subtle death is no surprise.

Take from me

All you pity

Wrap yourself around

My sickly frame.

Envelop me, for I am dying.

Singe your lips on this cold flame.

Published in: on April 24, 1995 at 12:07 am  Leave a Comment  
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Powderflesh

I looked at what resembled

A pile of sticks covered with putty.

How could I empathize

With such a pathetic soul?

It lay with so little so subtle a breath

How could I stand

In pure health and pity?

The powderflesh frame

Was yet to be mine.

 

I kneeled down aside the corpse

And gently slacked the brittle jaw.

So putrid a smell, a noxious stench

Released itself, and death escaped.

In spite of the stench, I inhaled deeply

And exhaled my breath of life

Into the rotting lungs.

Published in: on April 23, 1995 at 3:37 am  Leave a Comment  
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Plummet

plummet

Where were we?

Look at where we stood!

And now where are we?

Drifting into the void?

How come we moved?

Did the floor drop out beneath us?

Crumbling to dust, our feet have surely left the ground.

 

What shall we do?

Is there a way to stop the falling?

Will it make a sound

If we never hit?

 

Should I be scared

In this strange descending motion?

Feel the air rush past- it is a long, dark haul.

Published in: on April 17, 1995 at 4:50 pm  Leave a Comment  
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try

Life is a series

Of chronological tests

Day by day

One or two

Actions take the whole of you.

 

You have to try

Or perhaps not

Either way

Win or lose

Your life is shaped by what you choose.

 

I am strung

In complex events

It goes on

Takes all of me

I’m dying from philanthropy.

 

You must have will,

You have to try

It’s a chore

It will end

You’ll reach the goal when you win.

Published in: on April 14, 1995 at 12:09 am  Leave a Comment  
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