once

once upon a time, my words were weapons. i rarely had anyone to spar with. now, i make things up less often. i don't have to manufacture reality. too often it disappointed, anyway.

10/24/2004
memory traces of sand escaping
drop by drop until an eventual zero
why are there holes
and not solid ground
gaps yawned blurred edges
banging pans trying to recover faces
voices anything but the void
waking with the dawn
refusing to laugh with the rest
knowing everything that wouldn't be
living cliché hard-boild eggs and salami
gulped down with a malt and a morphine
tricking time at its own game snake eyes
the flip of an imprisoning switch and it's
back again to the unabating infernal waltz
morbidly beautiful tango scepter cast aside
maybe the guru had lain atop his mountain
suspended in his lotus pose cracking lips
wisdom rolling off his tongue no longer savory
sad twisted corrupted and solitary
rusted in sore misuse collecting dust
aubergine tears seized by slow frost