Thursday, 21 April 2016

Your Yawning Days of Mortality



“Buste de femme et autoportrait” (Bust of woman portrait) by Pablo Picasso (1929)


Over on this side of the fence there is no oval and therefore no grass, just stone, and stoners
No athletics and hence no competition
No need to hand the worth you put on yourself on the table
Out in the open
Two people mount a ladder to differ the light bulb of a street lamp
The difference is told only at night
Where the field is absent of souls, and their feet
When the insects come out to play and prey 
Harvest their meals
With the sharp claw and impeccable sight
Mother them

With bare hands
Resist the temptation to crunch an infliction of pain and agony
Under the soles of our feet is blood
And sins  
A sinful disgrace
Disgraceful sin
The persistent repetition of which will cause an examination
For authenticity
How does an excessive amount of air hold the sufficient grounds on which to breed
Suffocation, it hardly makes sense
If at all

Our lungs will plunge
The bags of oxygen
Formerly known as, will supply no more
The will to live
Withers on a daily basis
Whether or not there is a cause
With assistance we’ll pierce through our organs of sight a dream of infidelity
Committed on our behalf
On our bodies
Still looking to hold someone accountable for
A scapegoat will never come of a volunteer