scene:

some dull
mind-f*ck
(thats not what that slim girl in red wants f*cked)
of a party - sidelights lit upon the walls
sitting little and mechanical
cant tell if the floor is a mess
the lights are too low to show
watching reckless wraiths of the middle class
bump and grind into mediocrity
loving the act, but
(obviously)
nothing else
and im just a kid
sitting patiently, waiting
for causality to rip me a new one
cause this is a puppet show of broken hands
i ran out the door
into the arms of a god
i cant see eye to eye with
tripping on the curb as i fly
looking back in horror as nothing closes in
feeling the bass in my restless fingertips
cause tonight
they dance
and this sound holds back the dawn
so until i find a new scene to suicide
ill feign catatonic, hoping my cubicle settles nicely against my skull
last call
last call
lights out

Powerful, strong point of view, I like.

wild sh*t, dude, you're right there kicking it with the beat writers, but making it your own beat. I used to put a lot poems on this site, but I found out, they consider poems on public forums prev. published, it limits the journals to submit to, but I'm still looking into it more.

haha, thanks man.

public forums mean previously published? none of the journals ive submitted to have noticed, i guess. :\