Untitled

I was born dead
stillborn bark of a tree
a broken piece
of jagged edges
thrust into the flash flood
of coloured lights
a world of wandering corridors
scratching against my skin
that I lie still and never need move —

rumble of voices
as doors slam loud
to imprison sun
and moon
while a dead man
sings in my ear
melodies ringing
of glittering rain

I have no two feet
upon which to stand
and no heartbeat over
which to stumble —
the sheer drop of gravity
sunshine slit by cloud
a kiss of pain.

(And I was born blue
the other half of you
so we could become green
under the yellow leaves
of autumn)

02 November 2003, Sunday, 11:11 PM

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Alter ego of dandruff

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