talking to a God who doesn't talk back.

this cheapened bliss hypnotises her
mesmerized by the small things, all
the simple things. trash painted over
with rainbow-like colors again and then
again. slowing the pace of a rushed life
grabbing for air and flowers. visiting a
grave with empty remains in nightmares
that she will never shake. and the spiders
crawl and the spiders bite and slowly,
slower now, she's slipping.

wake to the sound of your own voice.
sleeping in your mind's gutters
careful not to wake the angels. missed
opportunity at goodness and she falls
into her own mouth carelessly

she just can't seem to get it right
talking to a God who doesn't talk back.

10/14/2002

Posted on 10/14/2002
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