Sunday, July 28, 2013

Imprecision








Through the untouched, snow silent streets
Of a luckless half- absent- after-noon
Part- fractured like the creations of a million
Opulent eyes, greedily waiting to be undone,
With casual looks, hookers and virgins salute
The hot lipstick reddened on the cold sun
Where I, stepped out through the drifting
Frame, igniting the flames like every other man
Not really here- not really there, no where in fact,
Shimmers neon noised crowds reflecting windows,
They watch like caged animals- the angels-
Bestowing their miseries and their blessings,
Amongst the cheap cut price beer and dope 
Essences fades- and looks betray- we are not here,
Like You- they seem to say we do not exist,
Like words proven too difficult to capture
That impenetrable sense- language even fails-
To uncover a worthy, precise, fitting metaphor
From behind the blank walls with emptied eyes
Swarms, like blinded moths quickening the red light.