this rediscovery was a long time coming

00.1's Journal

00.1

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Stylistic Violence in Black and White [
Thursday (02.25.10, 07:11am)
]

Welcome welcome welcome, dearest and oldest, to the ever-so-dramatic poetry journal to your best friend theonlykow. He likes to write poetry and he likes to make journal layouts and he likes to confuse people with multiple journals. Thus is how you've found yourself here. Already he's tired with this layout, but he doesn't care and doesn't have the time.

I've backdated all this shit to the day I first began the writing process. I'm very sporadic, so I apologize for huge gaps in between postings. I also don't post a lot of the trash that I write. Most of it doesn't even get typed up. Sorry. I appreciate any and all comments. My resolution for 2005 is to write a new poem a day.

( About This Layout and The Fool Within )

This journal got it's accept on at __eyecandy and free_elite. Represent. Also, this is officially Not A Layout: not_layouts.

Under The Guise of Mammon [
Friday (06.10.05, 02:39pm)
]

God lowered himself to the streets for a quick look around.
To any of us humans he appeared another man:
Six feet tall, maybe with one extra inch;
Muscular arms, lackluster build, possibly pudgy;
Charcoal gray suit with a matching fedora
Over soft brown hair, cut short, militaristic.
He carried a gun with no bullets.
Consider it an unwritten bible, a journal of sorts.

If he asked for change I would dismiss him.
Maybe tell him to get a job.
Maybe not notice his telltale firearm.
Maybe not respond at all.

Seeing the state of affairs in the city surrounding him
He quietly contracted a small, profitable business
To announce in his name a silent bit of information.
Consider it written, filled. He’s shopping around.

“To the citizens of this one true earth,”
Read the press release, a half-page spread in
Half the major newspapers of the world.
“You don’t know who this is,
Although I could bet you all know my name.
This is your final notice.”
Further down, the paper read blank.

Our eviction was four lines deep,
God’s loaded gun in smudging black and white.
Just another man among humans
Who don’t know the definition of “grace”.
Upon returning to heaven and keeping up on
Who knew what about the End Of Times
He could only mutter a subtle, “fuckers”
Under his breath, his own prayer for doomed society.
Loaded, cocked, and fired with warning.

( Commentary )

read / 0 / comment / edit / memorize

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