-------------------------------------------Mood: The UsualJohn the Baptist makes a beeline right for my car window
and I remember all those times when I stalked my friends
until they turned into cigarettes,
never honest enough to beg.
The rough edges of the world no longer
call me on the landline I donâ€™t have, cracking plastic
pressed against my sweaty face.
Or maybe they do, but I donâ€™t answer strange numbers.
I view color schemes designed to make me
not feel and think of how another self,
a past self,
would have been floored by this.
a rustic artisanal rainbow pop
and I wonder if there is any language
in which these colors mean war, or death,
Not just the slow death
of domesticity, of fashionable ice cream shops,
of keeping busy while the ground crumbles underneath,
one drunken night crying in an alley somewhere,
Truth and revelation.
Because what I see in this color palette is the hole itâ€™s trying to hide,
and the rough edges of the world come flooding back,
only I donâ€™t have time for them now
except to think of how I still believe
in truth, in this truth:
If the world doesnâ€™t break you until you beg,
youâ€™ll never see god.
...Created 2017-05-26 13:08:46