Thursday, November 19, 2009

8th To Jefferson

I got fu-ducked up last night. Somehow, I managed to write a decent one...

"8th To Jefferson"

Her hands look dead.
Shrunken
Diminished
Lifeless in their dance.

He looks scared.
Withdrawn
Alone
Searching the environment
For a like-minded soul
Behind like-minded shades.

They converse.
Oblivious
Stapled
To the products of entitlement
As every-other soul
Bobs
Forward
Angled
In the resolution
Of the late scene
It's ignorance
Intoxication
Blind movement...

He tries to sleep
Awakened by the innate
Eyes upon him
Verse about him
Glancing to me
Secretly
Troubled
But too tired to care
As maybe someone else would.

Among this
I am me
Feverishly scribing
The moment come
Upon eyes looking to mine
Wondering why I stare
And write
Only to stare some more...
©2009clarencecbess

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