Southbound Musings

I

Have you ever glanced into
a puddle of water?
The excellence of your face
amongst the sediment.
You, too, have but one life to
live. Mortality isn't mine alone.

I drift through the
sea of drifters. Aimless,
formless, yet wholly
dependant on the forms.

A beleaguered response
then, from our broken
apathetic generation.
Sailing endless seas of
dreams looking for a
place to land.

We plot existensialist
revolutions and punch
young men in the face.
Utter esmasculation
countered by female
emaciation.

II

I dream of Steven Carter,
I want to be Steven Carter
but I can't - I wonder
if there's a blonde
caucasian athlete God
who wishes he was a
hairy Muslim intellectual
poet.

Sometimes the blood runs
over my hands and down
my arms, it's a matter of
gravity. What direction to
lean-to.

What a waster, what a
fuckin' waster. What the
fuck will you do? Father
shouts angrily down the
phone.

III

"I am not beautiful" is the
battle cry of all the beautiful
girls I know. They should try
living a day in my shoes, they'll
soon see their inaccuracy.

Fuck Tom G.
You damn right I'm bitter.

I am not in Love
I am not in Love
I am not in Love
I'm lying.

I am not in Love (with Her)
I am not in Love (with Her)
I am not in Love (with Her)
I'm dying.