Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Limp Ciggs, Corporate Life

Dislocated air.
Suspended in space.
Gaps between seconds,
not sure what to call them.
Butterflies in my face,
once caterpillars in my lungs.
I've lost my keys to my diary.
I am afraid of the thoughts I've placed there.
I pry it open with a kitchen knife-
cut my finger and watch it drip.
Throw the book of secrets into the trash.
Put the can on the curb.
Secrets better out than in. 
Saw the homeless man reading it intently.
Asked him what it was all about.
He told me if was about him.
Using the "I's" for himself.
Told me these feelings were from his 
corporate life- said he wouldn't go back.
I lit his limp cigarette and sat with him on
the curb for the rest of the night, listening to him quiver at our secretly shared experiences.

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