She fell as a raindrop
Unnoticed
    Unscathed , cushioned by the pavement

The sun will come out tomorrow
Bizzaro //A real hard act to follow
they pour like liquid valentines
Villains
Some get lost going home
Most get moist-in a moan
Document the sweetness
Sorrow - gets set on fire
Ember- doused; a funeral
Empire. Reeds on the bank
A foggy morning riverside

Promenade in the rain
Reminding my ears
We are still alive

With grin
       Plastered
Against walls
Sorry
if i
fall

I couldn't understand
But once again,
Something i have been feeling
Even as it is -- a feeling
Is making me begin to eat in
Myself making a meal
In my dreams


As i still make the deals
Yet she rights the wrong

Together
Laughter / inception
An Amazing twist


heads over heels
having climbed
Only slightly

More dangerous trees

The best part
Of wakeful life now
Is the hazy
Twenty seconds of consciousness
On either end of sleep
(When I may as well not exist).
Because in that diluted fog

I don't feel anything.

I don't feel sick
To my stomach
I don't feel
The crushing weight of reality
I don't feel good
About the good times
Or bad
About right now
I don't feel

Anything at all.

And it's wonderful.

Here is the edge of silence
Sick of time like leaves in the
Blowing away - a people person
Forgiven for follies fickle as ****
Falling frozen in the farewell flame
"*******" she says

I'm feeling
Bitter.
And all this stupid
Pretentious hippy
"Spirituality"
****
Is just getting old
Or maybe I'm just getting
Older
And I'm seeing how all these
Burnouts in tie-dye
Appear friendly
But they're not talking to you,
Just your girlfriend.

"Free love, man."

They're scumbags just like the
Scumbags in suits they hate so much
Or the rocker scumbags who are
Mysoginistic
Just like them.

This
Self-brainwashing
Is getting old and I'm getting sick of
Being lied to,
By them and by me.

the truth is nobody knows
What's going on in the universe,
No matter how much of a
Shaman
They claim to be or how much
Peyote
They smoke.
And anybody who claims to
Is
Selling
Something-
Be it glassware pendants
Or ****
Or their throbbing
*****.

This hippy ******* is a bastardization
Of an image
Of a faded picture
Of a set of ideals
Thought up fifty years ago
That only ever really worked on paper
Anyway.