Thursday, March 31, 2016

Drowning Room (in a Burning City)

"Why does the world have to spin?" She asks standing still outside a room wherein All the shelves find themselves on the floor, And the contents, dizzy, are running for the door. Spent your mid-twenties burning cities. You were always good at swimming, But your belongings now are yearning for the shore. Plastered smile to hide the truth from surfacing. Painting portraits and brushing over those burdening. Each stroke felt like a blessing, but now the carpet's getting messy. An expressionism of all your shortcomings. The same goes for her. The same goes for him. The same goes for all Time and time again. A room disheveled and slowly emptied on its own. More room for bigger shelves, but all the same alone. The closet is a graveyard for the vast array Of drowning animals and poems you forsake. And the bedding in the frame will always feel the same when your feet are cold and warmth is miles away.
The carpet was wet and removed (to make room) For new expressions since the old have gone astray. Thoughts are scattered like a Pollock. The cerebration's not symbolic to any beauty that may or (may) not remain. The same goes for her. The same goes for him. The same goes for all Time and time again. "Why does the world have to spin?"

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

The Alex Show - Episode 74


ALEX: It's 3:30AM over there, and you're still kicking! Can't say I'm surprised. _____: You're always up at this hour, too! ALEX: No, no, no, no, no. I'm dead, remember? _____: Okay, so you're dead. Tell me your eulogy (life recap) in six sentences. Ready, go! ALEX: Alexander Franklin McCurdy. 
Together his name sounds like that of a President's, but he never made it to thirty-five.
Alexander alludes to the Great, the heart of a warrior, but even the greatest of warriors must fall in the end.
Franklin makes us twenty-somethingers all think of a turtle, but he lived his life at full throttle and always out of his shell.
McCurdy McTurdy McNerdy McFlirty smoother than a McFlurry.
Much like his late night chats with the whimsically endearing and lovely _____ _____ - who happens to have a ridiculously cute laugh - may he never rest.
Also, he hated the number six, so here's a seventh sentence. FLASH FLASH FLASH SPIN SPIN Do you want to read it?

- afm

Thursday, March 17, 2016

The Eminent Wind

The wind howls like the alpha leading the pack, its gusts a scythe on the neck and back. It forcibly sunders with such attack that I cannot react to steady my aim. It pushes me out of this shaken frame. I cannot tame the God of Wind, or His Brother's pow'rs here within a world in which I cannot name. It's all the same as way back when my sturdy structure was rearranged into a fractured, mangled hair. In all despair, I gave up the game. What's rare in fact is deep in that idealistic proposal to switch the track, I somehow remained to stay intact while still disposing of the racks in which my birth was purposefully claimed. How am I now the one to blame if I bear no seeds to plant thy name? With such disdain I disavow the very name I once avowed to once reclaim and make renowned within this coarse, endowed domain. In the now I forsake such prodigious false acclaim. Somehow I've maintained the structure that once stood, though in the end it does no good, for if the end is imminent then eminence is purposeless, yet here I sit and circumvent this parliament of practices in circles spun in circles spent. It all whirls 'round just as the wind, and so it howls till my descent. Pushed to the ground in impotence, the wind will sound deliverance. I must admit, the wind brings air, and I don't care that I'm full of it.

- afm