by E. R. S.

Created on: December 24, 2008

Oxymoronic Inconsistencies.

the curse is that

I have to work

with this complete

lack of artistic talent.

And in that sense

I have to convey

what I'm seeing through this.

I need to explain

this eerie, bitter

electronic glow on my face.

And the way I can feel it

like a cold stare, a cold shoulder.

The way it eats into the surface of me,

but what's at the core is something more,

something contented, in contrast.

Always in contrast to what should be,

the light dances like an

internalized aurora, on the outside

it glimmers like tiny flecks of

pointed aluminum.

A bisected reflection,

a refraction of all the paradoxes within.

With my crippled, stuttering keystrokes,

that is what I try to convey.

How I can feel so warm and look

so cold,

how I can grimace and smile,

how I can run away and still

listen for what I'm missing as I

distance myself.

I'm an embodiment of different

heights of light, lengths of waves.

With me you see a giant swell,

but hear a million tiny droplets -

is that wrong?

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