February 1, 2016

lens-ing through loquacious whisper

lens-ing through loquacious whisper

there were bikes chained together in the basement, blocking an industrially gray painted door to the outside...I just wanted to find them alive...I swore I had heard knocking when I was searching through the first floor...had the devil lived here before or was it more of modern humanity's need for a lord...either way, I did hear something alerting me to possibly a positive outcome in this search for the missing town's folk...

we knew dream outcome gambling halls were proliferate in these former manufacturing towns and being so, many sold their souls to paint their bodies a golden glitzy kitsch while they spent their last breaths on things they could ignore the rest of us with...perhaps they were just part of the wind now or peeling paint or even the rust shuttering close, the gates between the many chained link fences...strange to see the empty bones of what once was...all I needed now to complete this surrey with fringe at the top, was a bit of tumbleweed making the empty bleed into me...something that said move on from here, this place is not paced to be sanctuary...

but maybe their absence was just the other side of boredom, 
seeking an alluring weigh station portal porter housed 
what once was thought of as holy and tangibly divine...
knees, palms and forehead down, searching the lonesome(s)...

I mean, can you still detect faint traces 
of individuation, when reading the words they left on paper, 
are these words what their souls wanted to be...? 
imprinted onto you or I, could they smell different too...?

here is where it all ends up being rhetorical 
a story board with things still to do...

missing town folks ended up being 
abducted by modernity and as such 
were unable to be located 
by way of poem, intoxication 
or escapist training...

we said, they'd come back 
when they were hungry 
and headed home 
for feast and fire...