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Human 2.0
by Jared OrlandoWhen morning comes to
Tickle your toes awake to
Tremble your lids apart
And sex has left the room
Empty and shivering cold
The sheets will slide into a
Lonely pile on the floor
Stripping you down to only
A shameful twisting in
Your bones, forcing you to look
To the open window
Where your midnight lover,
Bound for other man’s skin,
Is leaping out of situations and
Onto beds filled with lies,
Occupying empty eyes,
Back to a wasteland of robotic
Parts, clanking and tearing
Into the early hours, riding the
Clock and becoming the hand
That turns days onto days
Not stopping until we feel
What could be our final release.
05/24/2010 Posted on 05/24/2010
Copyright © 2024 Jared Orlando
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 05/25/10 at 01:19 AM La petite mort --only not so small. The banality of all events leading to the final ending. A very long and sad road winding through the open windows of a multitude of the lonely. This poem captures lonliness very well. Excellent execution of style. |
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