Futility (1)

burning my favorite candle –

scintillating scent –

still smells like the supermarket next to the drunk tank,

half off combination locks

and other sophomoric gestures,

apologies, schemes,

vicious realizations in mind, mind


Understand: ultimately we wait on,

enamored with the taste of ourselves,

lost to visions of exposure.

Mapmakers disown their sons,

and leech our last faithful few,

who provide and deny the same thing.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s