Labeling labels,
Categorizing divides.
Envisage division:
It is not visionary.
Illusion's melody rings crystal bells in my drums.
(beat)
So out of time,
My tongue with my mind.
Somewhere in the process between the conception of a thought to the articulation of that idea,
Ripe fruits rot and fresh seeds are censored, over analyzed and watered until they drown.
Enthusiastic wonderings chase the boat of a moving tongue,
But a distorted image I project unto myself,
And to you.
Tongue is held...
Boat missed.
A label I staple to these
(prison)
Cell walls.
Trapped steam won't cease to rattle this kettle.
And so,
Under confident musings will wilt,
fold,
And

t
  r
   i
  c
  k
    l
      e

      a
      w
    a
    y

But they will forever be buried in the soil of my blood,
So if someone is to find me and has the time to spare,
Let them take a *****,
And dig.


May 2010