you're hungry for everything everyone
but you don't swallow them hollow
the knicks and knacks
in your creative crevices
are mysteriously mysterious, and
yearning for years long lost is the
traction's reaction of your
action but the
puncturing of pins and needles
in your frozen rivers of exciting
enthusiasm are the model and
remodel of your hopefully
hopeless seconds and minutes
and hours and days and weeks
and months and years and decades
and centuries. All you want to
have and to hold
is a trademark
marking the demise of society or
maybe just the meaningless meanderings
of your condescendingly confiding conscience. The
only happiness you have is the tearful
reunions with your rereleased
redesigned rememberances. You
don't owe the world but the
world owes you. you don't
own the world but the
world owns you. you can't
stop the world but it keeps
slowing and sneaking and
slaving and splitting and
sleeping and snipping and
stopping.
but what can you do? it's
ninety-nine now, who can
you do? It's not the question but the
unholy unlawful unethical answers
that frighten you into insanity, the
inane reasoning of me
and myself. You'll run
but you will never hide, never
hide, never hide where they can
get you but they'll always
get you. Hidden hiding hid
running ran slowing until your
tick-tock clocks stop run around
and rebound rewind reverse rebound.
remember the rebound.

-- liz