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By Edmundo Daudi Date: 2010 Oct 19 Comment on this Work [[2010.10.19.21.28.31844]] |
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Far from it all the trails of smoke in my eyes the sound of the bridge's hydraulics moving the road out of the way for tugs and their big rusty midget ships bound for who knows where with bicycles and stolen cars aboard reminds me of that thing I feel sometimes that I am a simple unnamed nothing, a bait fish food for mother earth's harvest and rape a fantasy id and ego an imaginary temporal reality that I scratch to hold onto with breaking and crumbling vestigial finger nailed claws. A joke that must not be one that can't be one. That musn't, less love be as futile. |