Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

(2004)

there are cases of blindfolds being divvied out,
people with completely superfluous amounts
of judgemental abacuses.

some live in the past.
it's tonight that matters though
there are raucous shouts of overblown
hyperbolae which deny the existence of a being
and i am seeing a double lottery backward
because i can no longer afford to play
with tenses formed from yesterday's
judgement calls, me, the doll of the stage,
all the rage, the heroine, the imprisoned saint
who's every line brings a complaint
from the balcony.

those people need to get different seats
and come backstage to see with me. the
semi directed nonauthority of anything.

i'm trying to write. it's much like
a fight with words. it's a lot like
the night is absurd and i am playing
scrabble with myself, a girl with a tray
of letters attempting to read them
in the right order.

i am on the border of unorganized doubt,
a phantom trying to figure out where my
appendages come together with exaggerated
imagination and i hear the repetitive taps
of scrathes backtracked through the child
of my habit mirroring me like adaptable utilities.

i was holding the phone and then my ear
heard the clear sound of becoming capable,
the wonder of scrathching keyboards in my head when i was
a scrabbled fanatic renegade.

wade with me through meter.
what could be sweeter than pattern
and question?

come to me soon.
digestion of the closest to forgive,
the last words on my tongue.