"I've got this killer up inside of me... I can't talk to my mother, (friends, women, coworkers, associates, affiliates, city council, the internets, the homeless or even your mother) so I talk to my diary."

-that Scarface song from Office Space

Ostinato City, pt. I

~Beads on Angels’ Wings~

Conscience and wit
Work against
One’s own ends
And when angels assuage
Their loftiest of confidence,
Bow their wings from the atrophy
That remains,
It amends my rage
To apathy.

I will never fight
Not having been bathed in your might and glory.

Rain beads off the wings of angels
A torture they choose to ignore
And absconds, does that horror
In a freezing encore,
Onto me.
Desire breeds on those things
Which monsters devour
From mangers
In their infancy.

Bestial obesity…
Bores the newborns into deja vu…!
Born to the maternity ward
In Ostinato City.

The island of internment
Here, where everything
Fucking repeats.

Our mansions collapse
As our emotions prolapse
And expand to be proved.

Yet I still hold breath
Within to swim away
To you.

I war for no compassion
Without the one, angled above
Shining and below,
My window glass benighted
Recalling to me the time,
With amassed consensus:
Denotes ‘love.’

-Friday, January 16, 2009

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