Discrete Lobotomy by Peter Gidlund (Imitation #6)

Discrete Lobotomy by Peter Gidlund (Imitation #6)


Inside of the hotel there is a forest.
It stems and sways, but never really finds
the answer to its days, the answer for
for sun ablaze.  Inside the hotel there
is a sleepy hermit who wears no socks.
He's been everywhere and lost everything.
But he still holds humor in his pocket,
sprinkling it a bit over every time
to say, Oh, so it goes, or Oh, all of
my woes!  The hermit recludes and retreats,
not afraid of the shame of losing a
day's work, or the esteem and respect of
others, as he had already lost them
in his salty storms of lost sarcasm.

The ascetic has all the company
that he, could ever need.  He has no such
capacity for the blather, prattle,
and drivel of modern day gossameur.
He has no time to waste in the presence
of his unconciousness, anxious to get
to the bed, to become intimate with
the hermit, anticipating the nap.
As if to endure one or the other,
psychosis or a discreet lobotomy.
Inside of the forest there is a waif,
searching for lost time, slowly losing his mind,
counting up to nine, making sure it rhymes.
A mind is a terrible thing to lose,
but to think of all things we have lost to
the mind, clearing memory and solitude,
but that's really not that much, you don't mind?

The Abandoned Hotel

The Abandoned Hotel

By Zachary Schomburg b. 1977 Zachary Schomburg

Inside the woods is an abandoned hotel.

Trees grow in the lobby

and up through the rooms.

Limbs jut out through the windows.

It looks like outside

inside.

 

I climb the trees

through 1000 rooms.

 

I look for you

in each of them.

 

You're a long shiny line.