10-03-2011, 04:12 AM
Hunger and stasis gather on
the porches of my heart.
First there was childhood now old
pining from a distant home
I don't like visiting. It came and went
not saying much. Horror film
devoid of plot. Hunger had been sated once.
Then stasis came. Opened like a paper rose.
I slept a hundred years.
Yet still my hunger walked and walked
the wastelands of my abstract love.
Feeding on the last remains
of ambition and friendship. Then it sought my smarts.
I unlearned things. Personal hygiene
and time. I couldn't wash my hands or wake.
The passage of life has nothing to do with watches.
It's all about decay. See me sweat, collapse
and rot. Hunger's death and true stasis.
the porches of my heart.
First there was childhood now old
pining from a distant home
I don't like visiting. It came and went
not saying much. Horror film
devoid of plot. Hunger had been sated once.
Then stasis came. Opened like a paper rose.
I slept a hundred years.
Yet still my hunger walked and walked
the wastelands of my abstract love.
Feeding on the last remains
of ambition and friendship. Then it sought my smarts.
I unlearned things. Personal hygiene
and time. I couldn't wash my hands or wake.
The passage of life has nothing to do with watches.
It's all about decay. See me sweat, collapse
and rot. Hunger's death and true stasis.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe