Spotty Logic (spottylogic) wrote,
Spotty Logic
spottylogic

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Experiencing formatting errors, please stand by--

Or not. This worked written out longhand in my widely-varying handwriting. I don't know how it'll work in [pre]formatted [/pre] text. This is a concrete poem, and depends a lot on spacing and line breaks--assuming it "works" at all, it probably won't unless you have your browser expanded out all the way and a small font size.

You said, "It is too much,
  all this being." How true,
     but could you provide a 
       context? "This. This moment,
         when I hadn't had the time to adjust
             to the last one. How can I stop
                to tie my shoe, let alone smell
                  the roses, when they fly past so quickly
                    I'd get scars from the thorns?"
                      I know what you mean. "Do you?
                        Really? It's time that
                          seperates us from the beasts. 
                            I've never seen a dog that knew
                              its birthday, and if it did, a dog
                                  would never lie about it. And
                                    It's killing me." Time? Dogs?
this skin.                             "This watch, these clothes,
in a coffin.                                I might as well sleep
dying. There's no                             I'm dying, you're
humanity. Even if                               escaping your own
one single day, stretching                         you could hold
far into the next day                                   it out so
never stopped being now,                                  that it
tomorrow would catch up                                      your
  with you. Your body knows,
    but it's not the body that
      kills you--it's the mind. Only
        a sentient being dies every day.
          humanity kills you." Animals die, 
            too. Look at your sister's 
              pet rat. It's not moving much.
                "It's dead, everything dies, but
                   only we are dying now.
                     The second you see tomorrow
                       coming, it's too late to dodge.
                         A dog doesn't die until it's dead. 
                           You--me--we're dying now.
                              We can't close our eyes,
                                because we opened them.
time                              That's what the gift of
our hands,                            cost us--we burned
shaped by                               you can't help it--you're
seeing tomorrow,                            time, because you,
How can you live                              let it carry you.
the full of your life?                           when you see
choose between eyes open or                         we have to
closed, before we're born, before                        eyes
  we're wound up, like little watches,
     or there's no justice. I wouldn't
       have chosen this, I know that,
         I wouldn't have chosen this sweeping
           second hand. Dogs don't wear watches."
             But dogs don't choose.  "Did 
               I choose? Did I?"
Tags: poetry
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