Friday, August 5, 2011

Lost Arts

Like retired sumos we meet
In the earthen ring of combat
Flabby conversation muscles
Lagging concentration ability

Duelists lose their touch
When everyone gets guns

We stare off into space
Tired of keeping the ball aloft between us
Wishing the face we face
Was inside a screen before us

I have started scribbling
Thoughts from my fingers
Onto paper airplanes
That circle the world to find you

Cheetahs get fat
When meat is thrown to them in cages

It numbs my digits
Cramps my hand for days
Costs money
Like all real things should

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