Thursday, April 18, 2013

Abandoned: All Those Who Enter.

Walk Outs Welcome

Some sort of critical mistake I'm making
causing a lack of double taking
and keeping in contact.
Sliding off shoebox tops
flipping through headshots
of cancelled callbacks
reminiscence mixed with sighs

Walk pasts
and un-read texts.
only limits your chances
of a pity ffffff-….riendship
Polaroid went out of business
so we can’t shake each other
to make the image of some past thing any clearer
Snippets of lyrics left on doorsteps as steps away
a disappointed head case sees that his knocks
will not move onto your doc-martin boots.
Like cars during a black out at an ugly carnival
There won’t be bumping any time soon.

Belly button snap shots
jump rope over morality
occasionally tripping face first into bed
with nostalgic tee – and sweat- shirts
draped on office chairs & bar stools
picked up the morning after
put on the next night.
burning eyes, flat hair covered by one
of many hats covered by several of even more pins
collected to assign a meaning to a barren skull
Exit strategy
existential crisis burying a second voice 
down an ashen sink drain with fermenting friends. 
And trapping that fox with the 16 stones I was given.

Not who they wanted but who they were near.
Turned to mockery and cynicism out of fear
Should be living alone, locked in that shoebox he burned long ago.
“Poetry? Oh yeah, you’re really into that?”
Yeah I guess so.

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