M. Twilite
06-02-2005, 05:31 AM
The basement of the tree is where
all the personalities are molten,
red and writhing in the furnace,
that is why we stay upstairs
where it's cool.
Down too close,
you get a whiff of all the coals there burning
and things get weird.
You come back up to where the rest of us are,
but you lost your sore shoulder
and gained a habit of whispering to yourself on the subway.
Another guy walked past that same furnace
lost his keys and interest in finding a different girlfriend
but man, he gained so much more,
like the habit of leaning forward on the bathroom sink
for a few minutes before brushing and shaving and flossing,
he puts one hand on each side of the sink instead, now
and breathes, and looks in the mirror first
He looks like a leper
but how would a leper look without eyes
and they're the first to go,
along with his hair,
and particles of skin flying off in all directions.
He knows by the time he finds a pen to write it down it will all be gone, so he just eyeballs it all, like a lap dog feeling a twinge of the wolf in him
when he sees a passing squirrel,
but it just flickers ever dimly
and he has an alarm clock that burns steady
and soon,
and he reaches for his toothbrush.
If you write something too brilliant the computer breaks, and you never even get a chance to print it, or else it turns to senseless gibberish once you fall asleep and wake up a pod
Brillliance and gibberish,
kindling and dried branches,
coal and soot
the furnace keeps the real meanings in a constant spiral,
if you have to grab one
everyone else will laugh
all you walk away with is an obsession with vintage naughty Parisian postcards, or a gnawing sense of guilt whenever you eat sugar.
No, it's better to let the spirals just melt their grayish smoke into the air, and breathe,
and breathe, and breathe
and breathe.
are you breathing
are you breathing
are you breathing
Damn, I forgot to breathe that time.
are you breathing
Ah, fuck it.
all the personalities are molten,
red and writhing in the furnace,
that is why we stay upstairs
where it's cool.
Down too close,
you get a whiff of all the coals there burning
and things get weird.
You come back up to where the rest of us are,
but you lost your sore shoulder
and gained a habit of whispering to yourself on the subway.
Another guy walked past that same furnace
lost his keys and interest in finding a different girlfriend
but man, he gained so much more,
like the habit of leaning forward on the bathroom sink
for a few minutes before brushing and shaving and flossing,
he puts one hand on each side of the sink instead, now
and breathes, and looks in the mirror first
He looks like a leper
but how would a leper look without eyes
and they're the first to go,
along with his hair,
and particles of skin flying off in all directions.
He knows by the time he finds a pen to write it down it will all be gone, so he just eyeballs it all, like a lap dog feeling a twinge of the wolf in him
when he sees a passing squirrel,
but it just flickers ever dimly
and he has an alarm clock that burns steady
and soon,
and he reaches for his toothbrush.
If you write something too brilliant the computer breaks, and you never even get a chance to print it, or else it turns to senseless gibberish once you fall asleep and wake up a pod
Brillliance and gibberish,
kindling and dried branches,
coal and soot
the furnace keeps the real meanings in a constant spiral,
if you have to grab one
everyone else will laugh
all you walk away with is an obsession with vintage naughty Parisian postcards, or a gnawing sense of guilt whenever you eat sugar.
No, it's better to let the spirals just melt their grayish smoke into the air, and breathe,
and breathe, and breathe
and breathe.
are you breathing
are you breathing
are you breathing
Damn, I forgot to breathe that time.
are you breathing
Ah, fuck it.