shadowboxing.. it's me verses the spaghetti armed tear soaked shape in the corner. I can see the two faces, fight and flight, revolving around in the monitor's projection. the movie selects the scenes. the light appears to be coming from across the room, but really it is projected from beneath the bits in our mouths, swarming with the sting of taught breath (that of excessive candle or balloon blowing) .
sorrow is sometimes chosen for the slicing sensation, for the bloodletting of tears in the embrace of leeches, collecting voluminous quantities to make for Astroturf contrivance later. it will be aired at the next superbowl or mtv extravaganza. someone long famed will sing it with someone new who should never sing at all, and they will coexist with the blood birthed green turf. the mascot will munch on the placenta when the team that flies AND fights wins the match in the ten second interval between the preview, the overview, the acknowledgements and the mid-life crisis.
chin up, chains down, fire underfoot extinguished. eat fast, fast sparsely. love mothers as only mothers should have loved you. who knows-you might wake up next to yourself in a parallel moment and need to deliver the only hug you will receive. practice hard, dropp the ball often, take the bench when necessary and stop being so damned concerned with the cameraman.
bypass the muse
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sorrow-as-musings/
