Thin Sheets Throbbing

Grey, green outside window blind;

separated into rectangles, tangled in emotion,

when will enough be enough?

Buildings be brown; matching mood, matching

skin, how to begin again as a

mother/father-less child?

Music is nice, what I’d do without it?

Probably go out and split a wig,

be entranced by triggers without tiggers,

is that like doctors without

borders?

Computers are useful, but 

the internet is the devil.

Typewriters were an author's best friend,

finding ways to relieve the pounding

of partial thoughts...

Thin sheet of rain falling from sky

like used linen is being dangled

by god—

if you believe in that kind of thing

Jagged, not Jagger, thick like Jagermeister

Pandora speaks in Spanish, as the

numbing in my left bicep, aches on.

If your balls hang low and grow

past 40—

does this mean you’re in risk

of a heart attack?

Forward mobility, mobile phones

converted to cell phone, jail cells,

they have captured our voice.

We have captured them with

blood on their hands—

camera, cell, picture, framed…

none of us are free.

Green grey outside,

with thin sheets of rain

like old linen

being hung down by god—

if you believe in those things