I lift the blind one last time before bed
and look out.
Nothing’s moving as far as I can see,
but I know
there’s a teeming,
an orgy, a war raging
among the microorganisms
in the yard.
Life doesn’t stop
because I imagine
nothing
when I sleep,
no matter how hard I pretend
that sleep is like death.
Nothing is like death except death,
and I’m not even sure of that,
which makes me smile as I turn off the lights.
“Fight and fuck,
divide and conquer,
my friends,” I say before I go,
realizing that right now
I’m as unnecessary to them
as my God is to me
whenever I am doing the same.
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Dark Matter 
July 11th, 2009 at 11:37 am
“an orgy, a war raging
among the microorganisms
in the yard.”
This poem has balls… and I mean that as a complete compliment in case you have something against testicles.
Good stuff!
July 11th, 2009 at 12:17 pm
The only thing I’ve got against testicles is my thighs.
Thanks!