Bigsley the Oaf

Posted in Uncategorized by bigsleytheoaf on September 24, 2011

Claustrophobic and horrifying, always,
Always –

Always –
Exaltation – crashing of
And everything, always, into
And everything, all same, always –
Into

Here are beautiful women, but none of them —
But: giddy, and they’re greedy with green glowing eyes –
You don’t know what they are.

Made of bones and skin, and you’re dying;
Waiting for bell, and it’s ringing.
Being misinterpreted as you read this.
Waiting room – full of fools and they with grins.
There’s sound something scraping against wall in adjacent room.
Two hands, out in front of you, limp, end of tired forearms,
And you’ve bled out.

You know about all tunnels under hill,
And your mother – waiting,
But all closed entrances,
It’s time to go – your mother – waiting,
She’s always calling, but you don’t want to go.

Disappointed constantly, but, deeply.
You don’t taste coffee or hear music in cafe,
Register faces of people who pass you in street –
You don’t wonder what they’re thinking or, going
You don’t look forward to getting where you’re, going
And not particularly happy to be where you are.

Sometimes, suppose that someone were always stopping you –
From doing what you’re doing –
Either forcing something out of your head,
Or in,
Stopping your starts, missing your hits.

Very little time,
Very much time,
And me is sitting in between.

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