Saturday, 26 September 2009

Moby Dicks

the great white frontier
like a vast eternal sea
my pen the mahogany wood speck
in the middle of sameness
the crisp page
like a smooth Pringle chip
I, like a drunk driver, waiver here and there
creating ripples,
leaving crumbs that resemble dust clouds
we are always journeying
albeit at different speeds
if you listen real close
you can hear the engine purr
depends where you're headed
I can see it now
360s in parking lots
the majority of us
like great whites
forever moving in a frantic prosaic style
just to stay alive
motivated by fear and safe boredom
the tension between the two mount
like music in a horror movie
before the kill
and if i listen closely
i can hear the hum

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