we're starched,
ironed, tailored
and hemmed,
expunged of
the extraneous.
cut down to size,
sprayed through
a stencil, and
molded to fit.
stamped and
cookie-cut,
branded
and broken.
no place for a square
in a city of circles.
no, no place at all.

we're all just humans
in this
paper thin
onion skin
stretch of humanity.

and more than that!

we're all alive
in this
whirlpool
world
of everything
just being.

and so, with that,
i can celebrate
that my eyelids
rest on my eyes
when i sleep at night.

so curious of the ending,
almost forget to watch the movie.
anxious for that final frame.
do the credits roll?
does the whole of life
really flash bright past your eyes
or does it fade to black and never back.
could be everything or nothing,
but its eternity all the same.
is there final revelation
any ethereal epiphanies
or just jostled termination
the sound of a vacuum
being unplugged
while its still on.

so curious of the ending,
patiently waiting to witness
the collapse of the final synapse.

grueling
    grinding
ingratiation.

smiles and
small talk
carefully carelessly
feigning interest for
a friendly facade

    grueling
    grinding
ingratiation.

thoughts subject
to centrifugal force
whip around
like the wet
of a hurricane
emptying the center,
getting nowhere.

the teeth chasing the tail.

centrifugal thinking
gets you stuck just
like the fair ride.
whipping round
and round, in
the same place
the entire time.

not meaning to
smile but
inertia's
pulling apart
the corners
of your face.
and you end up
where you started.

at least the top
spins in a direction
wobbling with
personality and
sometimes jumps
off the edge
just because.

no the top
isn't stuck spinning.
the top knows to fall down,
knows it cant spin forever,
eventually has to settle on a side,
eventually has to make up it's mind.

each precipice proves
more precipitous
than the last.

do the games get harder or
are they not games anymore at all?
either way this isn't fun.
a stupid game if it is one.

hurston had it
figured out.

love and living.
those two things
that can't be taught.

love and living,
we're bound to fall down
and thats part of the deal.
because we'd never learn
from our mistakes
if they didn't hurt so bad.

we were
shattered to sparks
and rolled up in mud,
and so far as
love and living,
we're on our own.

might never get them right
but we'll sure keep trying.

and not one without the other.
loving to live and living to love.
can't survive no other way.
no ma'am.

hurston sure figured
this whole thing out
for me.

not to mention,
a man's got nothing more
than his hands and feet.
neither the things he makes
nor the places he goes are his.
just hands and feet.

and so now i walk,
slow deliberate steps,
like praying each time
foot touches ground.

what frivolous fragility is a shore
always shifting, sailing, sinking,
both torn and squeezed
by equally opposite entities.
utter and ultimate dependence on
the continued relationship
between land and sea.

great tear colored shapes,
violent glass protrusions,
glisten in the distance,
defying wind and sky.

head lights
blink in the dead night
and race to the red light.
got no place to go
but they still go

only humans and horses
have hymens.

Like it was tiger man, but not quite,
Because when you broke it down to numbers
There were more parts pig than any others.
And the pointy teeth were very pointed.
And so the beast king, thus anointed.
The village fled
The pillaged bled
And there along the side of hill
To run for life
The rush of thrill
The beast will ****
And blood will spill
Until his fill.
Until his fill.

Grass conquered the earth,
but even it suffers grave losses.