Old

ive been sick to my stomach for weeks, but i never really noticed until now.
my guts are aching and no matter what i eat, it feels like im hollow
im not sick

all of the things that happen are predetermined and planned out and already layed out in front of us.
i know whats happening, im just afraid to say.
my head is a jailcell right now and im trying to dig out with a spoon.
lets converse and reverse time and go back to when nothing was so overblown or out of context and i was too ignorant or too at peace to feel out of place or so incompetent here.
times been catching up and future is backing up and ive been searching for an escape.

stagnant feelings
rippleless memories

ignorance or childhood is bliss

its all just a scrape on my knee

oct 4th

becoming the human art-rat.

thieving a meager existance in order to simulate the idealogy of an art life.

Last Days

Last days of no connection
other than immediate presence

No obligations other than Right Now

Our days and nights
are lumped into clusters
of lights and darks

Roads like Pythons, Water like Ice

on four wheels with our senses dulled,

we leave the place where the rocks

are as smooth as porcelain skin

and the water breaks our high

jumps from rock to rock,

praying to make the leap.



too fast on roads too narrow

at least one of us knows where we're going

some sing along

some sleep it off

where to now?

but this is all I ever want

Disruption

you are a grotesque mandala,

a cycle, endless and reliable,

a perverted version of what

is to be calm and

meditative.

A Utilization of Resources

with heavy hands
heavy hearts
shaded eyes
we sleep
through the winding hours.
pass
pass
pass
forget your troubles, friend of mine.
our new rituals,
spiritual in a blinded sense,
guide us to a center.
a muse, a tool
to bring us into the ether.
breathe deep; live now and forever, dear friend,
in the celestial ambiance of
what is and what was to
bring it to whatever we may be now.

we open our palms, accepting sight into the fluidity of
the motions of our existence.

i dive with the ghosts of my troubles
into the pools of the collective
and sleep
under the canopy of
disarray and disillusion.
we follow the breadcrumbs of
tangents full of tired rhetoric and
reminders of real world happenings,
with the collective's cautious advice at
our backs.

with a tired soul,
an empty mind,
and light less eyes
I sleep.