the erratic sounds of pencil shavings
i watch the boy throwing dreams, like bad stars
slamming into the crystal ocean, creamy
sand revealing his newborn feet, like secrets
splashing in the corduroy, waves are pointed
toes watching from far away, newborn trees
and videos embellishing the silent, score of home
reminiscing on the lost art of nostalgia, facing backwards
watching the tides reverse themselves into the oblivious horizon,
beckoning a father forward requesting the voice, teaches
boy to throw dreams into rocky oceanic, family
glory on the summer morning, this boy is not
me crying, or devouring the universe.
devour the universe
as i slept christ-like, the tentacles
of oblivion bound my consciousness
and the only discernible reality was
the pulsating darkness of my mind.
succumbing to the void was the only
opportunity to explore the depths
of my dreams. so i slipped into the
verisimilitude, and all my nothingness
became a sloshing singularity of power
unleashed by the fever
of god. my mind is too much with me,
i swear it by the air, and my words
are the mockery of mist. so blame
me for the downfall and for the uproarious
leonine decimation of the mathematical
constants of infinite human humility.
blame me, if you want to, for i am
the suffering idiot staring at his own
identity within the dilated pupils of millennial
reason. blame me for the truth
that is written between the lines of my grooved
aching forehead. a headache upon us all
if we cannot devour the universe.
Jonathan Dick is 21 years old and hails from Toronto, Canada. He is graduating this year from Huron University College with a major in English Language and Literature. Jonathan has been published in The Commonline Journal and will also be published at the end of May in The Write Place at the Write Time.