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STUCK, SLIPPED, STUCK
Stuck.
Chasing with long strides
after a monument
constantly seeping into my mind.
It is all too loud now,
or too cluttered with the like,
just to ooze and bear
that misleading sight.
Slipped.
Right through the gap
left widely spread
as open as shut tight.
It is closed now,
as boundless boundaries grasped
it by the hold
and tossed it out for gone.
Stuck.
In replay of the timed events,
unexpected sightful structure
lying hurredly in my head.
It is but a dream,
let lookse for one brief breath,
to mock or make the like,
seems such a vibrant, real sight.
Comment
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Comment by Bobby Z on February 16, 2011 at 5:08pm -
good and morbid like real art...sounds a bit like pot induced..which usually is interestinger...P.s. i like the huge hair...mines long too cos im a taoist pretending i 'm exploring femme energies....its freak circus party...way more fun than dead people...i mean domestic deead people...those who are dead on the other side are infinitely cool......caiio
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