Thursday, April 21, 2005

Plaid Ablaze Simultaneously

Lips aflame, I am askew from the self I was at an earlier descartes I can’t pinpoint. My senses all are blended, every sound as loud as every color and odor, each toeing the tenor of a single waving kite string.

Last night I went running late, after Heineken, after spicy tofu. I ran fast, I ran an extra lap in the neighborhood where no people ever are out no matter the time of day or night. Rarely do I run an hour before sleeping.

The loop pitched black around me, music in my ears fast and loud. I returned home, I stretched, I poured another Heineken into me. I wrote a poem. A decent poem but not a very good poem, nonetheless an honest poem I shifted into new sphere in order to lexify. I am different from yesterday because of it.

This morning with the last two lines of that poem I started a new poem, a richer poem, but a poem today’s self is obscured in. I can’t separate the sounds and the lights from the words or from the ideas pouring into them. Simultaneously the overload is sensical, derived from ancient menses.

Now which way—hermetize, explode, or dance ‘til the kite string snaps? As above, below.

2 Comments:

Blogger {illyria} said...

your last sentence sounds like a stirring in my blood. i think i have wanderlust.

11:44 PM  
Blogger Sara said...

wanderlust. i think i've always got a bubbling case of that. action must be taken.

8:35 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home