Suntrapped
I am dissolved in my hair, a guitar-string choking my neck, the sky's belt under the red of my veins, a glowing torch blinding the stage of my eyes, actors running in unison within my words, sea-gulls in a sky of blue metal, surrounding the space inside the texture of temptation, sinking within a bubble holding waste and vasoline. I am dissolving slowly in a river of rage, coloured anathema-white.
posted by 100hands at Monday, January 09, 2006
4 Comments:
Perhaps a vacation to somewhere...cold.
Never before have I read a more eloquent description of the mid-life crisis.
But isn't it kinda like 10 years too early for that???
Once the poem leaves your fingertips
it is no longer yours.
It acquires new shapes
in the eyes of others.
----
I wasnt talking about midlife crisis, but I guess the above four lines explains more than I need.
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