10.09.2007

The Photograph

It had to have been
a fake. Take this head
in your bag, for example.
Fake. Not real, not even
close. I can see the white
Styrofoam through the makeup,
for example, how I look
in the morning.

My left shoe finally caught
up with my right. It said you,
miss, are a criminal.
It's time to put that gun down.

This sky looks suspicious,
too blue and too
low to the ground.
That is not a bomb, it is a burst
of light, not to be confused
with photosynthesis.
That ticking is music and not
what it could be.

Like what I'd like
to know about you
and that church you leveled.
For example, my teeth
and the way they are shining
white in the dirt.

5 comments:

am i dreaming said...

i luuuuuuuv this

Megan said...

me too, as always.

Sarah said...

Did I read this before? I feel like I have. Maybe it's just the way it is when you hear a new song from somebody you really like, and it is what you want it to be.

Megan said...

venom told me to tell you that you need to put something new on here. venom has memorized this poem.

am i dreaming said...

ugh post something new. i want to read more things that you write. you're going to have to start blogging more. maybe just quit your job or something.