Mar 1, 2012

on my way to become

the basquiat moment passed
and yet
i still clutch the rum bottle.
no longer
do i perform civil acts
the well is nearly dry
and i
play in the mud
suck patches of liquid
until all that remains
is the scent of puerto rico
bouncing off glass walls.
the night is old and broken
i watch the decay bloom
imagine nanobots repair
build knock down the remains of the day.
i talked to laughter
wax poetic
analyzed life love relationships.
the questions stay unanswered
but she told me to treat it as an experiment
now, the question becomes
how mad do i become?
the test must be recorded and retold.
she is almost gone
and i will keep kissing her
until she disappears.