One more absent day knocks on my windows pane
Feeling yet irksome
At the word
In it, maybe?
In what but life triggering all
Senses - love, hate, sight, touch -
Some smell in there
If it's the good kind

And I will never be excused by time

And I will always be within time

Unless I get some of that good before death stuff
In the form of noxious anxiety
Only to take me to a pixilated place
Where sounds are shapes and amorphous sentients
Of pre-ancient times
Whisper to me in a child-like way (secrets secrets are no fun)
Yet they are not children
They are stars made of dust

Just like we are

Cast out like a *****
Reaching a place of deeper solitude
Where the trees cannot even throw shade
Where the rain can no longer wet with self righteous mist
Where the sun can no longer burn or warm or soothe

Where nature -
Time's little ***** -
No longer recognizes my gait
My stench
Or even my look for

I am no longer Her child

I am no longer Her parasite

Because I have changed,

Abandoning all She has given me
Hence fulfilling the curse of humanities need
To go forth

Progress expand innovate

No Matter the Costs

Ascending
Momentums
Faking deaths
Gainst'
Our white **** carpet
I got
From my
Other
Man
-
Voices sided in eroded semblance
Like
Clams or
Oysters ( I never know )
Against poles
Resembling old dead men
Or
Young stoic future men
Depending on one's

Purr - Spective
-
I was
Am or will be
Some body
One day

Though I hear
Yesterday or maybe
Tomorrow after last or before
Is much greener...
A wider taller more expansive hill

I was will be am
Playful (Did Shakespeare / Like / Milkshakes?)
Though my neighbors
And
Associates called me/myself
Old & tired
-
Fetting since
Till i Heard

Attention
From said
Master

Attention
From said Mother

Attention
Attention

Said Boss Boss

And from
Said
        Father,

Who you at
I mean Who are you
Who thinks they can be
Whatever they
Want to be, when they want
TO be.

Subjective importance
Cast by of empathetic programming

Why does one look stupid
When they
Try to connect

We are animals:
Naked, edged, and always eyeing
The bush

Which the other
Will have
Until it's
The
Last one

On Earth.

They came at dawn, around 5 maybe 6, but the time didn't really matter. It only mattered that they came.
What year was it? I think it was, I don't know, I don't really want to remember...can you tell me?
No, you can't.
I can though, but besides the time let me tell you about the who.
There was a lullaby mind I made, someone that had a thousand and one ideas with red flares for eyes and sky rockets for brains.
I used to be see such fury
And be
Excited about it, but now -
Arduous.

Why?

I see the dirt in the rinds of oranges
And the creases
Of cloudes
The folds of Jesus's eyelides
And the sighing breath,
Of money's last game.

Tell me something to believe in.
Tell me someone to believe in.
Tell me something to believe in

Other than myself

Other than the one
I need to

Survive.

I can't be it.

I can't be.

Life is
Rejection

It lets you in
Then
It lets you out

I see no difference
With that of
Love
With that of work
With that of
Friendship
With that of children
Parents
Grandparents

Pets
Be it
Fish
Dog
Cat or mouse

Life is
Rejection with
Temporary
Acceptance

What is
Forever?

Being an angel?
A devil?

Being human?
That's forever.
That's never.

Being human
Is a pause before
Eternity -

If you believe in that sort of thing.

Life is rejection
Before
And
After

Life is rejection
And we can't wait
To be rejected
To take a breath
From ourselves

Who goes asleep
Truly eager
To wake.

Be honest.

I am.

The call to be,
Present!
Stems from this rejection.
Is born from this fact.
This rejection
Is our halo, is our trident, is our wings, is our horns

Is our thought
As we lay
Entranced by the muse
Beneath the tree

Life is rejection
So be free
Before we are

Rejected

To who knows where.

The book
The book
The book wades
Within the shoreline
Of the sands of time
A vehicle
Of transportation
Never literal
Fictional and
That is our point
Our point of story
Of character
Of being seen between
The black and white letters
That make up us
And them
And our never ending saga
Of turmoil and love
The book
The book
The book wades
On the crisp angles
Of the break of a wave
Which carries from
One
End
To
One

End

The book
The book
The book must be kept
Safe
For it is the most delicate thing in the world
For it is the most durable thing in the world
For it is the most precious thing in the world

We have and ever will

Create.

I wish
I could make sense
Of this place

I wish
I could make sense
Of you

I wish
I could see your hand
On top of mine
In the
Shining sun

I wish
I could make sense
Of this world

I wish
I could make sense
Of this space

I wish
I could mix my breath
With yours
In this winters cold

Where no one
Knows our names
Or cares to
Or wants to
Or

Dares to

It's ok

When I tell

You it
Is

I promise you
I'm
Here

Oh' muse

Never not hear

Me

I'm hear
With
And

Without you

The cracks
On my hand
Mean Nothing
But are

Something

And I stare at your heart

Hoping

To hear from you

Never obliging

Always expecting

Loving the feel of the keys