a poem for today, 11 August 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of nine sentences and its image]
The number you have reached is not in service at this time.
Think of me as the Barbie you'll never get to play with.
Don't you dare lecture me about what I can and cannot do.
God does not judge so any flavor of ice cream should be fine.
When I'm a mess like this, doing errands is comforting.
We must introduce the idea of psychical space.
I love chaos, so I tend to push the limits of not planning.
It's days like this that make surviving the overdose so worthwhile.
The heart's filthy lesson falls upon deaf ears.
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