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Plato and a diet
by Jared FladelandA breeze is a word for a soul being sucked from one body to another.
It's the tingle between two people in an elevator with no air conditioning,
electrics sparking between two images torn between obscene and art.
My hand goes numb when I think of God as the reason I met you today.
Your golden shine is a funky line
between bad poetry and melting words.
My words are like the margarine stick in a bowl in the microwave after a few minutes of radiation. I pour over you
because of my habit of clogging arteries.
if I were a romantic I'd be more wooing.
I'm a post modernist.
My art is splicing genes and disappearing chairs.
My love is death to idols and the birth of nothingness.
I don't want to make you mine, or have your children. I don't want to marry you and share in happy times for the rest of our bitter days. I'm not that cynical.
I'd rather deconstruct you. 06/30/2006 Posted on 06/30/2006
Copyright © 2024 Jared Fladeland
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 07/03/06 at 02:01 AM This was a gorgeous word of art. Keep it coming... Please?!? Great job.
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| Posted by Frankie Sanchez on 07/03/06 at 05:30 PM i'm in love with this. good work. |
| Posted by Shonda Creemer on 08/12/06 at 03:43 PM Jared ~ you can deconstruct me any day!!! I loved this. Excellent piece. :) Shon |
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