Selfish Monologues


After Paradise, I began automatically recording my impressions of ideas from scientists, philosophers, poets, musicians, painters, sculptors and friends and was left with many notebooks full of scribbled chunks of text that I chiseled down to form curious juxtapositions. The result is Selfish Monologues, egopoetic rants from oblivion.

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from Selfish Monologues


His handwriting shows no respect

she sleeps these twenty years or so

colliding

with the screams of reality fit

only for shelter and food


you have a long way to go

years between conversations in your true voice

believed cursed since you learned to talk


this is when gods and men revive the air

purged

in the theatre of sacrifice


when war is trivial and peace responds

in every selfish monologue


the streets raise an order that the sun

shine shadows on the wall


every child a drip in the slow destruction