Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Inside Eleven Two

Could you ever,
turn your voice in to a song?
I hear falsities,
a persistant kick drum,
a recording played backwards
until the words are a drill.
Proclamations broken in hours,
and excellence in bullshit.
It could be ten years ago,
the way stories are told, retold, told louder.
I don't care.

The story you write for your self will
have one ending, same for all your friends.
I'ts not a whiteout I see coming, but the sound of the
phone that eventually stops ringing.