Saturday, July 11, 2009

The words get lost in smudges

Dear Book,
I miss you.

Smoke exhalation, swoosh
Like a louger down a snowy track.

I can hear it in the inhale,
Smoke like a grimy mans hand
Gripping his last penny on the horse track.

Mothers pushing prams,
Wedded baby bliss,
White picket fences undulating into head stones.

Dirty scribbly hands write,
Taking over the white and blue lined void.
Trying to ponder life entirely
In one stroke of a pencil

Scratching word lines on a paper,
Almost meaningless as the scratches themselves.
Words that snake away from me
Evaporating as the scribbles emerge.

The non- atomic free range human

I am a human
I don't come with a warranty,
Instructions, or Frequently Asked Questions.
I don't run on coffee
It's bad fuel.

I can't run 24 hours per day.
I need sleep.
You can't just oil me up and expect me to run!

I have boundaries, limits
I can change without reason
After all I'm not pre-programed
I am the only user, and the original copy
Version 1.0.
Not mass produced.

I'm not broken when you don't prefer my actions;
Don't try to fix me, there is nothing to fix
I am only changing, adapting.

There is no manual, none that I know of...
So you better count on us being incompatible sometimes.
Count on glitches and problems,
You are not slot A on Monday,
And I B .

We, I, Us, You are hyper dimensional, transitional and contradictory beings.