Wednesday, October 14, 2009

The 16th Dimenison

Time. Proliferations on a mad abacus. Add. Subtract. Petty differences. In the frown on her breasts. God. She asked. Why do you hide. What are you afraid of.

People he said.

It was my fault. I let them decide.

The teachers all stopped. Stunned. As she tried on the empty skin. Of the doll they assumed broken. God she said, you don't listen very well. You don't listen much at all. But we still do.

You blame us. We blame you. Isn't that the reason for religion. The animal. With the thorn in its paw. These thumbs you've given us. Pushing it in deeper.

My many time machines try, but fail to solve this conundrum. What if is god bored of us. What if he would rather we save ourselves.

What if god doesn't exist (He doesn't). We're talking (Always talking). Don't hear. (Don't listen). Each other.

There's nothing to save where we've come from.

Nothing (Everything). Choices. Combusting in a tunnel of flesh. Arrogant gods still buying into the hand.


  1. Hi,

    To my shame, I am not a poet, but I'm "almost" an alcoholic. I was born Finland.

    I like your stuff. It has heart.

  2. every alcoholic is a poet. almost alcoholics are actors.

    good luck with your acting career.


    thanx for the comments and for reading.

    go scandanavia! rock on with your bad socialist selves. wish i was born there.