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Passions in Prose
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pk
Junior Member
since 2003-02-11
Posts 23


0 posted 2003-02-13 07:58 PM


Spokes on a Wheel

Like spokes on a wheel the thoughts roll through my head. A bird caged, clipped of its wings.
i feel alone, only at odds with those ******* noises in my head, like that Pink Floyd song Welcome to the Machine. A wave bursts over me and the combine of Big Chief and McMurphy is slowly creeping up on me. But knee deep i resist the temptation that the Inferno insists i must be cognizant of, fills my body, leaving my soul in some kind of Plato form lost on a shelf in some lifeless glow where they speak of how this generation is meaningless.

And Mr.X says go to war or you might wakeup with a gasmask full of brass until you see the destruction they might cause or could be. Nevermind that tap or rat listening to your rumor about terror or cells or the tax cut, cut through the youths schools. Be unaware of the truth for it just might set you free to be that shiny tac on the floor whose wrath might be that one end you could have never forseen. Like J. Alfred Prufrock i measure my life out in coffee spoons.

Never to soon to be that loony who walks down the street holding his pete asking if you would like to see his mushroom. But unfortunately now i see that my thoughts are but shorts in a circuit which wires this whole planet intricately.
Now I see it is a machine that holds my dreams, dashing them out like that last drop on the faucet, which never stops only teases.

Please relieve me from the monotomy of keyboards and textbooks and 1-800-call-AT&T. And this card in my hand gives me the function and punction to call home 'Mom why did I leave?''Believe me son i have regrets of what i have done, but if you ever want to be that fresh taste, that morning dew, you have to put on the break of time and let life roll up your spine until the wheel stops and you are free.'

"Imagine what you would do if you knew no one was looking"

© Copyright 2003 pk - All Rights Reserved
jjote
Senior Member
since 2002-12-25
Posts 1088
Ontario, Canada
1 posted 2003-03-01 12:27 PM


I like this one:
"Like J. Alfred Prufrock i measure my life out in coffee spoons."

Do I see some kind of cynical humor here? Or someone getting too tired to struggle through life's sometims meaningless events?

Do correct me if my thread of thought is off-tangent.


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