Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Our Everything



I'm watching 
this seagull
breakfast on
creamed crow.
That's just
another clock,
a daylight night-light
reminder
of impermanence
and diffusion.
Time 
is a tyrant.
Everything living
is it's propaganda.
We are
strapped into
plastic consciousness
to unwillingly
witness 
prescribed tragedy.
I occult 
the unintelligible
and random
to 
my first person
singular.
The cypher 
is threading
the awful
and ecstatic,
issuing the call
back to a place
that holds no place,
holds no where,
holds no when,
but 
is our everything.


4 comments:

Dana said...

"creamed crow"

mmmmm....

dinner? =)

Surfswarm said...

the seagulls on my beach were having washed up dead sole ( a flatfish you may or may not have in the goddam us of a ) for dinner tonight. their table manners were far from perfect.

Anonymous said...

don't touch that crow, eugene

ScaughtFive said...

Dead Soles... Innit that a book by that Gogol guy?