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Numb Dump | Poetry

Denizen: Digital Art by Shawn Michel de Montaigne

Dump the numbness, and they'll dump you.

The numb.


Days are measured by decay.

Nights are measured with cigarettes between stubby yellow fingers

and prurient confessions offered with a girlish titter on Facefuck.

Morning comes, and the flesh is feelingless.


Who believes in the soul these days?

Not even the religious.

Days are commute times and empty calories

and handfuls of antidepressants.


What is sleep for them but the fitful massage of the limp,

jumping, twitching bag of their choking hearts? What are dreams but

shopping carts filled with shit they don't need

and won't make a whit of difference to their lives?


Diets and boner pills and sleep pills and car leases

and handbags and the latest perfumes and Farmville and

eight hundred thread count and antibacterial toilet cleaner

and hasty handjobs and malls and traffic jams and two weeks'

vacation and the son's doing drugs and the daughter's doing her teacher

and the square footage isn't enough and the grass isn't green enough

and the mortgage is too large and his dick is too small because

HuffPost says so.


Time and space are known. Mystery is best served in paperbacks.

God is a butler, and that ache deep, deep down can be cured

with a sixer and a handful of e.


Numb the dumpness, and they'll numb you.

The dump.


From The Shadow or the Leaf


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Digital Art: Denizen by Shawn Michel de Montaigne