Sunday, February 28, 2010

Friday, February 5, 2010


We just let them through
These plastic sounds that mean nothing
Nerve cells unmeshed
Stoic static, there's no story telling

Velvet monotones going nowhere permanent
Palms on headphones and eyes on the floor
A fetish for the mechanic
We writhe to the obscure.

And it's no coincidence, this place we're at
Cliff hanging by a nail
We laugh
With our heads thrown back.

Regret left for the cock eyed.