Monday, September 10, 2007

Experiment in stream of concious with minimal editing

Sometimes Bananas

Spread across
Four rooms
chunky peanut butter smoothed upon
couches far
too large for infants
There is no sweetness come to bear.
Sometimes Bananas
maybe sliced and placed
upon the stale sheets
of bread that are the cushions
that fill the couches frames
One couch in one room
Folds out into
A bed
I watch On Demand
I talk on AIM
I hold a guitar in my hand
And play without rhythm
With a pick flicking the wiry strings pulled taunt spuriously
Passing my eyes like orbs into the stone wall of the television
screen. As if two holes were carved to hand them to whatever laid beyond the static
My hands rattled as if paddling
The string instrument. Intoxicated
but zombie like the sound
just happens
yet seems to travel like a 4x4
over rocky terrain
There is no one to talk to through the computer yet I keep it open in
one of those rooms
When I decide to include something like bananas
I take a single one from the fruit bowl
peel back the ripened brown spotted
yellow skin and slice it with
the same knife I spread the
sticky peanut butter. Eating only
the tip before eating the sandwich
Then I devour everything whole
Without Prejudice

When you place banana slices into peanut butter
They maintain the integrity of their shape
but their gooiness seems to fuse with the sticky muckiness
of the sludgy substance that clings to your teeth
Until washed away
by something like milk or cranberry juice

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