Back to Issue 7

329 by Anthony Redd

writers are lone people
photographers are private investegators
and musicians are adventeurers

relationships require morticians
someone to examine the body
to determine the cause of death

defence attorneys protect the fragile
but i am an avid proesecutor
ready and willing to sentence myself
to rapid motion and constant evasivness

we know nothing
is immune from destruction
so our hobbies include
sifting through ashes

the resteraunt industry
is full of gypsies
sales representives and advertisers
are our constant companions

they deal in numbers
reaching plateus
deep in the caneverous underground

everyone seems so blissfully empty
on the surface, because they say fashion is the new love
we marry one another
wearing   matching sunglasses

then we remove them
for the meeting of the eyes
only to discover 50-100
and a cold war
raging underneath our canyons

my heart is full of reckless abandon
my lips are a full on rebellion
you can not get underneath me
or on top of me

i will always be older
and younger than you
because i constantly disregard
my sanity, find my mind irrelevent
and toss my body in the garbage
amongst the stars and the galaxies