Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Thoroughly depressed.

She hadn't even finished her obligatory response before her interest shot downward into the cloud of another's voice.

So my corduroy sports coat flapped with me, inside, to evoke a response from someone else who was more interested.

I couldn't smoke anymore cigarettes, and there was no one inside who wasn't already occupied by mixing a drink, checking their emails, or engaging in a conversation with someone else.

I felt a little tinge, a little pull from a ghastly thing I thought had left, so I went outside to smoke another cigarette.

So thoroughly manic I searched and pressed for an audience, and following thusly, I became a desperate propheteer, spewing out words and phrases so I could put my feet and stamp a place into the patio.

I suppose it's better not to be Thor...
Great circles
I am a weak man
with no shoes
and beastly rage.
Go away...
great circles
are all that come to me
numbers in the night
and ants.
I never existed
so I think that means:
the joke's on you.

-July 27th, 2010