suppose it ended now

nostalgia

does anyone remember

that huge screen in metrotown

where you'd walk in front of it

and your silhouette would be

projected on a giant screen on

the opposing wall, all neon

and lagging and what.

I miss that.

I really miss that.

fears of youth

with greased eyelids

purple and limp;

the skin of my

lips tugged and thin;

veins like worms

trapped beneath wax.

this is what will be.

beneath this bosom
pulled taught by

nylon flesh, there

will still be my heart;

a deep burgundy

vessel of existence

patrolling each breath

like my faithful

watchdog.

the inner tongue of

structure erupts

onto the surface,

gasping like a

forgotten newborn.

soles are bricks,

hair is wool,

this is the moss

on the stone statue:

who

would

love

moss

gilligan is satan?

really now?

things of consequence

there is music for the ears of the deaf.

when we suffocate and attempt to unlock the air we cannot reach

often times we must find the humour in things which have become

traditional in our lives, satire of our generation

and when this satire belittles us, makes us feel insignificant in

our personal journey, we must turn to knowledge and self

assurance of our own being to guide us into cognitive serenity.