Pressure Drop |
I read the wordsalmost dailyand conjure up scenariosthat never seemto be.I read the wordsand never knowwhat I'm supposedto feel.I read the wordsand see the writingon the wall.I read the words and alwa...
Posted by rottenart on Fri, 18 Apr 2008 04:35:00 PST |
Box |
withinwithoutbreathe inbreathe outstay inget outhone infreak outcruise instumble outfumble inbumble outmoney's inmoney's outclocking inclocking outbreathing inbreathing outmoving on....
Posted by rottenart on Tue, 15 Apr 2008 11:05:00 PST |
Idolatry |
Torn downfrom pedestalsat ground level.The chattering class chirpswith verveand vitalimport.The truth will set us freebut the soundmight drownusout....
Posted by rottenart on Sun, 13 Apr 2008 09:48:00 PST |
Die Gespenster |
Sie durchkommen meine Tür.Langweilig undgegen meine wünschen.Sie sehen mich bloße und allein.Mein Denken nur werdet schwarz, wann sie gesehen ein wieder sind;hinter mein Fenster,mit Hungerund Schöne....
Posted by rottenart on Wed, 02 Apr 2008 10:57:00 PST |
Running Out of Road |
Towers of treestickling the skyon either side.Fog like gauzeeddies of etherealoozearound my legsas I wander.The end is just aheadbeyond the sunand rain....
Posted by rottenart on Sat, 29 Mar 2008 10:43:00 PST |
Kindern |
...sind zu jungfür der Welt von Männer.Unter glattes Fellihrer Blut sind Rotund starkenund echten...Aber echtes genug?Sie sind unschuldigund frei von Leidungbis der Welt bestimmt andernfalls....
Posted by rottenart on Wed, 26 Mar 2008 08:02:00 PST |
Nichts |
Not movingbut laughingsomewhat.Not talkingbut lyingnear.Not smilingbut watchingwaiting.Not lovingbut enjoyingnothing.
Posted by rottenart on Tue, 25 Mar 2008 09:06:00 PST |
4000 |
Drowned in a seaof oily blackmistakes.Youth -harvested likewheat.In one endof the thresherand out the othertransformedinto identical white headstones.and valiant triangular packages.The roots of this ...
Posted by rottenart on Mon, 24 Mar 2008 10:52:00 PST |
Pivot |
On that rocky surfacethat tumultuous mirrored planelies the bloodand sweatof perception.It is a hinge a point in timewhere the audience observeswhat the actor flourishes.On that visual stagethat refle...
Posted by rottenart on Sat, 15 Mar 2008 05:49:00 PST |
Straßen |
Slickened butnot wet.A turbulent haze hangs in the steely airvoicing protests to the tonguesvon auslanderen.At the witching Stundethese stones stare backmit Augenhundreds of years old.Ich gehe zu Fußi...
Posted by rottenart on Wed, 12 Mar 2008 01:50:00 PST |
