it's beginning to look like christmas everywhere you go; the trees, the bells, the stars, the freedom in your heart; the toys, the rose, the song in your bones; it's all unsettling - having to let go of a gun at the door of an amusement park, watching parents stowing away from public sightings with oblivious children, turning off a telly on a christmas day for all the horror films on repeat, needless to add that television was too loud and too paranoid, watching your money go glistening on a whole chicken's body and glazing against homemade dessert, tasting like cherries in tall glasses and burning holes in your conscious because that's the best it could do - dismantle the gore into a million little pieces melting into your dessert, in the graphics of your Facebook, in the colour of your wallpaper, in the sweat on your glass and going away like something pointless... - as a warm petrichor soars around the room and through my sleep, waking up tastes like grapes; juicy within the best measures, sweet as capri and soft to touch like baby giggles, and it doesn't get worse from here, not one mal atom - it edges closer to a nuclear extinction of the human race and earth life, as that would, very much indeed, be the best far-near dream to draw across the broad dimensions of your imagination on such a beautiful nautical dawn scented with infinity... - it's that time of the year when the hustle of my birthday joins the christmas tinkles - I've always wondered whether at eighteen I'd start having wrinkles! ... while the whole world twitches with pain, my bones seem to twinkle... - time is a prime conflict between relativity and quantum mechanics / and as that may sound manically sporadic / we actually experience time as psychologically real when it's fundamentally a false antic / so you may find me hanging on a new yorkian christmas tree / or in shanghai or some other country by the sea / amongst the old photographs and christmas books and singles / while failingly hung upon countless works and textbooks and people / because nothing matters... - I'll forever be sixty or nineteen, or a hundred and seventeen years - because no energy gets created in the universe and none ever dies, so all my energy will remain in the cosmos because I have given as good as I have got; because all the particles that ever bounced off my face or whose paths were changed by the touch of my hand have gathered for once and for all into constellations of electromagnetically charged neutrons whose energy will go on forever; because I may not make any physically evident appearances in some time and that would never mean that any bit of me has gone, I would just be a little less orderly.
cigarette bums
By juxtapoz
poems and prose More