Cold rivers flow through us all at times.
The colors change occasionally,
sometimes red, sometimes green,
seldom white;
i can't stand this cold,
drives me pure and shivering
up to the soggy grass and
i lay there naked for hours,
basking in warm, pale
sunlight of the thousand tears
of my desires;
i pluck (razor sharp) blades of the grass,
and muse to myself that i am the
bringer of the fauna's armageddon,
but i would become the cruel
ruler of an off-white gray world;
i don't like the color gray, so
i get dressed and go home.

"A life lived for art is never
a life wasted,"
that's what Macklemore
and Ryan Lewis
told us.

Those of us in recovery
need this to be true.

Those of us?
--all of us--

because we are all artists,
placing pieces of our broken
lives into a mosaic,
a cathedral floor frieze,
something we build
to walk on, a
snapshot of past agonies
and beautiful memories
that lifts us out of
the ***** Earth.

A true artist manufactures
their own hope.

What are these words i pen?
This ink that flows soft
and quickening?
Are they bound to the page,
as i am?
i am a metaphor for nothing,
encompassing everything:
i wring out my
tattered pineal gland
on the daily here,
photons approaching singularity,
crossing over,
destruction, creation, absolution.
Equation.
Scattered, collected,
i am scribbling.
Scrabbled.
Fractalized.
Shivering as i gain coherence,
endothermic inside,
socially exothermic.
Runed.
Indecipherably explained.

Freedom.
Equality.
Opportunity.
Crisis.
Hope.
Identity.
Security.­
Legit.
Antidisestablishmentarianism.
Justice.

While you were talking,
i found my voice.
i am not sure you will like it...

i have set my mind in motion,
flowing a river of thought,
pouring  m
                   y
                     h
                       e
                        a
                         r
                          t     over the falls
    for you.

(sigh)

Are you listening?

Do i need to break it down for you,
so you can get out of the box?

The.  Cow.  Goes.  "Moo."

That's onomatopoeia.

MOOTHERFUCKER.
(.) period.

Can you dig it?
Do you need a shovel?

Where are you going?
i am not done yet...
i need you to remember me,
like gnashing teeth on
a mouthful of tinfoil.
i need you to pick me up
by my handle and shuttle
me there and back again.
Wherever, whenever, however, whoever...
**whatever.