old is the new new! what the fuck am I talking about! (I am drunk. no, I am serious! I have had a lot to drink!)
too many transitory words. too many things, in this exhausted state, to state. today while riding a hostile horse on a south african briny beach (all mimsy were the boregoves) I wrote a poem in my head, my first poem in years, my first poem that doesn't sound like it came from edgar allen poe had he suffered from mental retardation. each key I press, invisible to your ears, makes a clack clack clacking sound. and you will not hear it. okay, so here is the prome:
born in a daze of days and age
shine in each of my doctor's creases
as he tries and plies with patience kind
to pick out bits and pieces
of the rambling scramble of joycean words
which from my mouth is leaking.
Though I know he is naught but a cognizant thought
of a mirror to whom I am speaking:
'born into a universe where I am useless,
I've had the time to see how it's putrid
I've had the time to see how it will run its course
I've had the time to see how it will die.'
replied, just close your eyes
and forget about the world you'll leave behind...
we're going to put you to sleep,
we're going to put you to sleep.
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