Sometimes I wonder on the psychosomatic
Reactivity through the imposed implementations
That are constantly being tossed at us
In waking world, despite my skeptic layers
When someone says something they believe
I can find part of me believing with them
Their sincerity drives through many lands
Images, pasteurized truths
Heated by the make believe of our person
Symptoms.. what are they really?
Maybe just adjustments to echo-static pressures
(If such a thing exists)
They cling through the frictions
of separate functioning energies
passing by one another in opposing currents
Procreating gossips, and partial positions
Sounding inclusion marks of humours
or secrets between intimates
Hiding by asham-edness
For the matters that slipped away in an instant
Matter no more, may we propose new
May we propose new?
Would the qualities attributed to that novel
Contagion be seen flowing through the walls of the intended suggestion?
Pleasant would it be
And fickle would it show, at least in measures
of the preference
of the bowl that we incorporate

Again
       going up the street
  Figuring for a transitioning
     But retaining status quo
like the secret people meeting clubs
and it makes perfect sense
     Make new spells
For enrichn’ing inflections
Be here now, be here now
         Attention
Be the setting
By setting the theme
Preen yr feathers and make the calls
      Walk down the street

not every word beginning with ‘t’
                          means the same
            but they all must be crossed
                   seems to represent human
      and politics takes humanity
                  out of social change
                   progress is subjective
  holding keys only for a point of reference
                    which is just a point
          within a point, which is only all
            just a referential hypothetical

Apathy in form
  Gaze at the sleek, predatorial
             physique, splendid in a sense
    forward gliding on
the currents laboring to
          provide an example of excellence
  in the embodiment of antithesis
to the goal of.. sentiments in a sense,
     or perhaps passions mapped out?

I’m not in doubt, more that in plural demeanor
   so any seeded proposal is
any other unfaith-ed exhibition
        suppose it could all end a little bit better
    if we didn’t resume our idolization of
          particulars, like all the functionel
that produces synchronic intricacies
  lathering in messy pictures full
of every meaning to all and ever could
         depict, in that glancing, know talk
  that abrupticates the framework
        of the ‘how ya doin’?’ formalities we
  ever so often sell as the scripture to
the boredism we addict ourselves

Places you think of sometimes
Like that version of yr childhood house
Blended into yr current residence
That’s kind of yr mom
And kind of you;
Or that corner in the subway
That you often avoid
Because it smells
Like ****, but then
There’s times you go
Over there because
You have to ****;
Or that place that you think of
Where you can feel
The cool you come
Over and just melt or some other soppy,
For me that place is gentle moving, slightly
Transparent, sunlight fractated
Water

Once upon a time
Everything was fine,
Once upon a space
I enjoyed my face.

Did you do, what I told you not to do?
Good.
Now, don't do it again.

~
Sleep, sweet darling
Sleep

Remember drowsy
blue waters
heal and swoon
the ennui haze

In softly pillowed oblivion
where even your
little toes and feet
touch bottom

Beloved dreamer
in tempera obscurity
there will be no memory
of the procession
ferrying our kipped-down family

They will dance
widdershins around us
with fluttered eyelids
and reclining hearts

But whether an
allegory of the cave or
an analogy of the sun toward
some dividing line between
~either way~

Sleep, sweet darling
Sleep
~