Saturday, April 24, 2010

I wrote a poem about not being able to write poems

The Battle for Lucidity

Static consumes the clarity,
distorts my visions and
I can't remember where
I laid my glasses down.
I am lost in a maze of stars
yet am the arsonist who
struck the match
and fed the flame --
what remains of that which separates?

I have a thirst, a thirst
that needs to be quenched,
but I have no cup
and my fingers fight
the urge to touch, my hands
repel like polar opposites
of magnets refusing
to do that which nature
has already deemed impossible.

There is a war inside me.
Bullets richochet off my skull and
I can't recall when it all began
but there is a force against
the static, the confusion and chaos.
There is a cluster fuck and
I wish someone would adjust the rabbit ears
or give a swift kick to my temple
like a kid to a television
wanting the show to
come into focus,
the story to unfold.

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