Young Writers Society

Fizzling Selfless

1-31-06

Fizzling.

Catching on something, a splinter,

mirrors tell of sunken eyes.

a future shrouded by shrieking sympathy

in the loneliness of a skull, neurons firing

like city business, but the sun goes away

.

sometimes, there is no safety from the Torturer,

curling infinitely forward, back, slender arachnid legs,

hugging.

sometimes, you beg, there is no fire,

and God’s silence haunts, like elusive smallpox

sometimes, there is no one to watch you cry,

shriek into the abyss, there is no echo, &

no one can protect you from this past you’re dying, &

kiss poetic solitude loneliness bitterness airplanes

cutting through the silent sky,

above the silent testing-grounds of the gods.


others cry alone, too.

old woman, ready to die, husband

a myth to her grandchildren, her life


a myth to her grandchildren,

independence shaken to the ground, fragile &

waiting for death among the sad cubicle stalls

square rooms, machines bleeping cheerlessly

nurses, overworked and inhuman, they’re scissored

into career of stifled hyperventilations,

your pain is the atmosphere

which they glide, terrified, above.

at home, they cry,

lost to the darkness of the den

into the darkness behind walls, into

television insomnia, infomercial dry-heaves

hearts flickering through the void.

the street throbs with its caffeinated messengers,

they go to work together,

go through the dance together, but

they always dance alone.

Late at night, they cry

when you dream, if you dream.

when you kiss the mirror and imagine

when you laugh through banquets

when you’re smothered,

every moment, human tears fall

(there is no mother)

generation to generation

to tomorrow’s sky.