untitled
by
Andrew Penland

mr. I
whose work is of no
concern to you- lets
his depression bloom
into angst. molecule by
millisecond, he erases the earth.

tomorrow:
he will have outer
space to himself,
and wake up to realize
just what he has done.
he will try in vain
to restore everything.

thank God tomorrow never comes.

 

untitled
by
Andrew Penland

remember when
the printing press
exploded? they found
a person among the wreckage--
paper and ink
as his bones and flesh.

he moved outside
Intertia's
city limits, contentedly
making spools of colors
unravel in
stochastic starbursts
of prayers.

then I remember
the day
Karma came
and colors
began to unravel him,
left him bleeding
stardust
into turquoise amnesias
he screamed out in pain
clutching for a soul
and then he woke up
and he was
you.


Back to the Poetry List