Friday, November 22, 2002

(one of my poems, dated Feb. 19/96)


I am my own Antichrist
Subhuman and Demigod at once
Huddled together like lovers
French kissing
They fall into a ditch

I am my own Antichrist
Perfectly incomplete
Like a cannibal with an identity crisis
Who considers it absurd
To be expendable
Or like a co-dependent playing solitaire
Being the last person on earth
After the love bomb
I am my own Antichrist
Completely imperfect
Like a week with no Sabbath
And I feebly see no end
Or like a year without an autumn
And I always fall out of season...