you asked for your
'oomph'
and got it

that spice of life,
variety in a bottle

sprinkle our assorted
colors across the globe

we are like falling leafs
on a windy day in the midwest

orbiting around you;

for you are the sun,
the centre of the universe

without your precious
privilege we
are nothing

it's midnight
or close to it

the smell of freshly
blown out birthday
candles fills the
air;

i'm on foot, and
walking towards
the horizon;

there's a rhythm
somewhere, i can feel
tapping along,
like the tiny
feet of a dancer

i peer into
the houses
i pass by

they remind
me of ovens,
televisions burning
the precious logs of
our attention spans

some houses
are dark as the
space i breathe in;

doors unlocked,
windows open,
beds made,
rooms occupied,

the rest of their souls
stowed away in
basements and attics

i'm almost home,

there is no porch light
to welcome me, no open
arms to embrace what little
there is left of my wartorn
body

but i'm far from giving
up on planting roots;

this earth is a battleground,

nature is doing what it does best;

beating like a drum,
marching on like a fleet
of soldiers

towards it's only true destination

tonight i've come to learn,

there is no heaven

or hell

for what only comes natural.

are we more than the brittle
bones that occupy
our lonely vessels?
they bob up and down
aimlessly, like forgotten buoys
littered across this vast
deep blue sea;

you call it life,
i tend to lean towards:
the subjection
of the 5 senses

you and i are fragmented
wholes, divided into a million
and one categories

and somehow, i don't feel
as lost as i used to be

the air pushes it's way
out of the womb, it takes
the shape of something
soft, warm and vulnerable

it cries when surrounded
by nothing

it coos when everything
satisfies it's hunger

and who's to say
it's time is up?

those bones, like our bones,
will grow old and turn to dust

lovely, it is
for cause and effect
to have mercy on us

i am damage per shot,
a weakness of the lung,
collapsed, i fold into
fours and then submerge
as easily as a freshly
baked American apple pie

i am a 24 hour diner
without a place to sit,
something like
a sack of grains
pouring into closed
mouths and filled
bellies

it begins, another year
around the neck of
two thousand

starving, i wander
the earth in search for amazing ***,
a fertile egg to implant my indecisions
and imperfections in,

one more breath
against the tidal waves
of suffering, we all continue
down this path

not as if it was chosen,
but as if it came naturally

littered with multitudes
of ideas,

i fall into place,

the center of a crooked
angle

Ever get curious about
how important you are?
Whether or not
you're pulling your weight
or dragging the whole world down?

For every center of a universe
there are pounds of flesh to mask it
call it what you will,

Human, homosapien,
the individual,

or Norman.

This planet is littered
with biases,

and each one
counts just as much
as the ones that don't.

"I'm gravitating
towards the shiniest
object in the store"

We say to ourselves,

unaware our consciousness
is simply a loading screen.

silence, i remain

'profound, deep,
intense' she said

'very creative,
good ideas...'

the web was sewn

it isn't the woman
we despise, but
the mother that was
never there

and what of
the thousand year old
tree sitting out back?

where is he?

'you're just like me
when i was younger,
you've got to carry me
to the end, put me
in another,

watch
me get stronger'

more seeds to sow

it has to grow
and grow
and grow

until i am not here
anymore

until i return home,

the unknown

Wonder who's
next

behind a steering wheel,
or in the 5th row
seat next to the window
looking down

or in front of
a gun, staring
into the barrel

at the mercy of
a stranger, or
on the knees
begging a jealous
lover

someone's
gotta go

here, now,
there

in the distant
future

it's got your number,--

but till then..

give meaninglessness
hell, kid