caught in the gullet,
one sliver of silver bullet,
gangrened septic sentiment
choking up in spite of itself,
searching for a slip to trip on.
it stings, pulsates like a phantom ring,
like reliving days of pain-lust confessions
at scarborough mall. the conservative men who
rejected me: tousled, tossed back drugs or switched
to lifting weights in the name of said men everywhere
who drove plastic box-cars, politic parades, motorcycles made of motorcades,
alpha dogs drink lemonade on the sidelines, scrapping,
snapping, writhing, my whining cage one of electrified otherness
fencing in the sprawling dreamscapes of
the fawning lion your zoo was ever so small for
a petit fours gang midget bridage, twinned, airy,
two fire lions clashed, one burned, the spurned fairy,
twinkerbell syndrome rots the heart from outside in
retroactively it saps the power of the fondest self-kindled grin
fire, build a wall.
the bridge it may have burned
but the tower never falls…
inspiration: do you ever wish facebook had an eternal sunshine option, so you could check an option, “no thanks, do not show the posts of this person, ever, for thinking about them is too painful. please render them virtually invisible to me by censoring their comments on the pages of mutual friends.” when will technology adapt to our brand new twenty first century gossamer egos? so tender! even the digital shadow of a painful reminder of past sadness is enough to fracture them terribly.
perhaps the mentally unstable should be separated from the internet altogether. it only leads them to post embarrassing poems, or photos, or worse. (and no one wants to see that.)