Thingy of the day

The question is not how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. The question is: what dance are they doing?

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Angel



Angel

She is light shining off of a picture window

she is soft sleepy-time moments and held hands

she is steam rising up from a mug earl grey and the haze of an early morning

she is bees buzzing in the bushes between backyards

she is the patron saint of spiritual silences

she is words that are left unsaid because you don't need to say anything

she is sunshine on a rainy day
she is a smile when everything is in a downward spiral

she is the song on the radio that makes you sing along

she is love letters lost in the mail

she is time well whiled away

she the best angel you'll ever accidentally fall in love with


Transparent

Hello all. Yes, I'm finally posting again! Apologies for the long sabbatical, but there should be more post as of now.
Transparent

All I am is just another transparency, another set of developments of store-bought bones of somebody I never thought I never knew

I am just another X-ray of a bedtime story told to a Chemo patient bombarded by searchlights trying to find what's out of place

Just another photograph of a ghost in somebody's machine

Another see-through messenger who got shot by accident by a somebody with a loaded tongue pointed at the man in the mirror behind me

Another spiritual spirit praying to something I know doesn't exist except in my head, but my head is all that's real to me and my invisible self

Just a monkey wrench in the cogs of life, a spanner in the works of somebody's daydream of a better world

A scanner darkly viewing my own insides like the covers of a book by Philip K. Dick telling of a see-through skeleton in a glass coffin that nobody even knows is there

I am everything you cannot see, and neverything you never wanted to

I am all the small things the experts say don't exist

All the toys in the attic of your mind, tossed into a cardboard box and forgotten but not lost in the shuffling card game that is the mind of its own of the mouths of children

Just a lost soul in a fishbowl on a bookshelf in a library of obituary notices in an empty house

I am a man made of glass who throws stones at himself

I am a photo negative of a holy ghost's imaginary friend

I am transparent.