Monday, October 4, 2010

Why I'll Never Be Famous

Scouring the horizon for tidbits of information
Words float on by unless I snap them from the air
Fling then down and pin them with a tack
On blanks of sheets of paper
Empty of anything, devoid of feeling
Pretending there's something behind it
Something hidden between the lines
Real world experience has no alternative
Do it, be it, or don't
Transcribing random imitations
Stolen right our of a thesaurus
Temporarily adopted and given a home
Made of sticks and straw
The big bad wolf can't wait to blow it down
Again, all over again
Bouncing around the yard
Finding new inspiration
Pen it, paint it, forget it
The past lingers in stands of light
Fading neon traces in the night
The black hole is spinning
Around and around
There is no view
In a room with no windows
Only doors are within sight
The future is limitless
The past has dissipated in a cloud of ash
Blackened ruins crumble and fall
Leaving trails of eroding pebbles
In the wake of broken footsteps
Leading up to a moment in time
As real as any
As false as most
Paradigms are shifted and flipped on their head
The sands of time hesitate before changing direction
New courses are set
To lands uncharted
And familiar lay lines
Grow further apart
Until nothing is left
But a blank sheet of paper

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