Sunday, June 27, 2010

mirrorsaw


park within car passes terminal empty
cracks started showing through unlisted mystery
a dead child was thrown through a window
wind opens windows
whirlwinds carry promises truth
will unleash us little dogs
bite flesh biting exposing freezing the soul
whirlwind blowing through the soul

guilt crashes ceiling now fantasies gone ages ago
messed up guilt crashes through the privacy gone ages ago
??? chest freezes hands pale lighter frozen paintings
illumination gone (not wrong)
??? chest

sides heaving chest boxed in I will find the real you
writer hand in smokes my treasures
I write a note tossed aside
tossed aside word shines through a powder baby the real you
love shines through a powder feeds the real you
love shines through a powder feel the real you
love shines through a powder
final curtain what's become of me and you

- n. ogre

painting: "The Little Red Glove" by James McNeil Whistler (oil on canvas, 1896)

Sunday, June 6, 2010

nobody

I MEAN NOTHING TO MYSELF.
I MEAN NOTHING TO MYSELF.
I'M NOTHING, I'M NOBODY.
I HATE MY BODY, I'M STUCK IN MYSELF.
I'M NOTHING, I'M NOBODY.
I DON'T MOVE, I'M STUCK IN MYSELF.
I HATE MY BODY, I'M STUCK IN MYSELF.
I'M NOTHING, I'M NOBODY.
I'M NOTHING, I'M NOBODY.
GLORY! GLORY! GLORY!
GLORY! GLORY! GLORY!

- m. gira