Sunday, 17 January 2016

the crime scene is permanent

Her great eyes fall on us
while we are looking

the medium
the monster

we give our all
to thank her
for the ocean

lackluster commentary
washes up on the shore

the droppings
of opinion
hit and run
hit and run

the crime scene
is permanent

she spreads us
lost and luster
thin sometimes

in a minute hand's
wide circling
lenient spin
sometimes

we do it
to ourselves

the hours
artfully wasted
the body
hardly moves

text necking in our photo
editing booths

manipulating
the age off our faces

pixel worship
while life gets scarier
out there

help me
i have forgotten
what's real

i don't wanna regret
all this screen time
like some washed up
porn star

 even that
must be real

god let me fall back
laughing in your arms

at a bar
at a laundromat
smoking reds

caring