Writing anach [PG -- L]

[Mitch]

i'm an anachronism
in this day and age
(i belong in the future,
swallowed in its sullen
sullied suffuse somber cheeks)
the past can kiss my ***,
i don't dwell on it.

today another dull day
yesterday a smudge on the
fine print in the teeming
culmination of other yesterdays.
tomorrow hopeless but hopeful
a scouring landscape sculpting itself
with fine firm shapely hands.
(i belong in the future,
dead in a grave a forgotten name
whose pointless time here
was forgotten)
my voice will curve its tendrils
into the opening of tomorrow
sleuthing time open, undoing
the stiches, it will seep
into the wide-eyed oblivion
of the unknown and will echo
back to me carefully.

i will hear
the reverberations
of wallowing stillness.
i will hear the
lisping of the impossible.
i will know
man is a marked son of a *****
being hunted by god
with the sternest damnation
worn high.
(in the future our selves are our nots,
our others found, our entire knowing forgot
too confused to know the lay of the smudging days)

one day
all you know
will be in the shoals and banks
of yesterday
in the whimpers of the past.
(and i'm an anachronism
i shun the past
and want to be delievered
to sweet nothing)