Where, my friends, have you gotten to?
Now that I no longer listen to the call of the creature.
Were here you ever?
Or was I so imbibed I imagined you by my side?
As alone I stare, aware of my fear.
Fear that I held at bay with a shield of aluminum.
I regress to being last chosen for red rover,
A long way from the awestruck crowds of Dionytes
That fed my thirst and called me Saint of Taverns.
As mine eyes crystallize in focus,
I see naught but a wasted life
That I must taste un-wasted.

To where now?
It's not like I'm at a fork.
More of a spoon in the road.
Collecting stagnant fluid.
Rotting.
Plotting events hidden behind unseen horizons.
Skylines I'll never see.
I keep squinted eye poised on pathless route.
I fumble with maps drawn in crayon.
I keep ear to wind in earnest hope.
Hope of hints.
Hope of tracks in morass moss.
Some indication of somewhere to be.
Some plod, or plot, or spot.
Carved in my image.
Calling me home.

Is a circle truly infinite?
Or does it have two ends that meet?
Perhaps hundreds of beginnings and ends.
Music, Science and Magic
form a perfect triad.
Each two defining the third.
Like the aurora of Father Jupiter
making music with Europa.
Dancing like children in a solar wind.
Defying divine chaos.
Do your best to distance keep
lest you brave the eye.
Mystics trace the path.
Travelers... we fly.

Lost in a petri dish
Alone with a wish and a can
A list of excuses and a spinning thirst
First and foremost insatiable
The parasitic host of the ball
Falling in a familiar black swirl
Alight and ashamed
Defamed and demoralized
Dancing in divine depravity
An imp to the flame
A slave to the golden glow

Transit garbled messages
From beings unprepared
Train-wreck waves of sound
Divine noise and ***** static
The foul breath of humanity
Tattered pieces of mentality
**** flavored carbonation
Steeped through alienation
Morbid tears of laughter
Plastered on demonic brick
Thrown through windows to the soul

Toward the mire, my life,
To sink and to sleep
Weeping bog of lost intentions
Bleeding fog of misconception
A widdendream of corraded slumber
My bed of lumber rotten
Forgotten and untended
Befriended by ill-humored spectres of pain
Oaken cane in shards
Buried just out of reach
Remind me, worms, of my frailty

Detain my mind,
the rind my brain.
Again, again, and again.
To what do I owe,
this mindless dowry.
What harvest I've sown,
misery... in company.
I've the mind of a poet,
and the mouth of a sailor,
which completely negates
my valor.