Pretty Words

Tired tired but the head won’t rest

No more pretty words to give

No more nice sounds coming out of my mouth

My body is like a piece of rotting wood

My fingers like dead leaves

The frailty of my body was imperceptible in youth

Now it is tired tired

But the head won’t rest

Writers seem more prone to alzheimers

And parkinsons in old age

Perhaps because the mind is fighting

The atrophy of the body

The immune system falters

The skin burns, tightens and itch

The organs become phlegmatic in rebellion

Even the passion, the kind with the juice

Stops flowing

Till the only orgasm

Is the one achieved by stroking the word

Till the only bliss is the one that removes

The writer from other human beings

Removes her even from nature

Even from time, from space

From the concept of sex and race

From the concept of building and place

From the constrainst of money and face

Till the only concepts that give comfort

Are --- self and god

Self

God

Self god

God self

Self god

Deliriously happy in the certainly

Of that truth

I am god

God is me

Bliss

Tell me, you simple one?

Is there a greater freedom?

That when the head catches

Those pretty pretty words?

Is there a freeir man?

Than he who dwells only in the world of ideas

Unfettered by sentimental tugs that the human relations entail

Unencumbered by even the gentle stirrings of religion and politics

Unseduced even by the brief joy of companionship

Was there ever a freeir man than he who is God of thought

Creator of reality that does not long even to be?

A creator with no need to create

A vessel of restless seeds that wish to stay uncracked

Why become fruit

To offer your flesh for eating

Nobody eats the seed

So stay seeds

Why sow them?

That’ll bring them closer to their death

Life in the horrid body

Tired tired

Ill ill

The body unworthy of the mind

The mortal body

Bethrothed to the divine mind

Goodbye body

Goodbye memories

Goodbye love

Goodbye desire

Goodbye cares and woes

Goodbye death

Goodbye world

Goodbye feelings

I exist now only on a diet of thought

I judge not

I judge not

So lonely lonely

Tired tired

No more pretty words to give

In my world of thought

An immaterial world of possibly bogus anitmatter

I speak it plain

I speak it for my own benefit

I care not about you

If you think like me

Then you are like god

Then you understand

The simple simple, not so pretty words

Are you tired too?

Copyright 19 Dec 2007, Michele Koh