Glue (2011)

The Ruins,
Colorless,
Depth,
Shapes.
Dreams cling to these images
like matchsticks to my thigh

An offering or an infestation
Why is my soul adorned
with cheap, tacky wallpaper?

At first its a thrill
but later a depressant.

Time of birth,
feel death.

Death in the cold air.
Death in white powder.
Death in layers of fake comfort.

Sometimes I think the hole is filled
but it is merely being invaded,
raided,
striped into a wider hole.

The more you feed it
the more I cry,
I crumple,
and I squat.

I motorize
Tell me what to say, I'll say it.
Tell me what to do, I'll do it .
Tell me what to feel and
I will nod my head,
rattle my spine,
and jiggle my legs.

Continue,
continue,
continue
continue

To do this:
Bet your chips
take more.

Bet your chips
take more.

Bet your chips
take more.

This is an announcement
of your never-ending losing streak.

Nothing here is yours.
Yours doesn't exist.

You don't come into the world to own.
The world bought you.
Fitting, for all the things and people you threw away.
Not the possessor, the possessed.

You have more in common with mannequins,
than mountains.

The assembly line pushes you.
Time.
Your a widget.

A small part in a cheap fabrication.
But

Continue,
continue,
continue,
continue.

Poem By Kim Dillon and 4 photographs. Photo of " Kim and grass" by Ty Gordon.

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