Argus was the only thing I could remember,
though I knew it was December.
The images before were only white noise.
Ringing in the temples.
Something new was implanted in my thoughts.
Now I have a watchful mission,
to keep my eyes up towards
the deep blue heavens.
But before me,
a series of sevens are written on the wall,
and “Fizbin” is flashing before my eyes.
I started my vexing fall
to the depths of inside my mind.
The flesh that holds our thoughts
is hardly safe from peeping voyeurs.
But I fell and I fell,
then I reached my destination.
Now my beckoning grasp for oxygen
leaves me suffocated.
And I lie still awaiting orders.

Mechanical devices accomplish frightful walks
with stronger essence than that of man.
Robot-humans being violated.
Recordings of digital warfare brighten screens
and index fingers strobe at the mouse.
Sitting around coriander garlands made for the dead,
captains place more meaning on life,
than death.
My fears are past and now,
I breathe new air into the meaning of humanity.
Heroes are so last year.
Higher standards take fruitful grasps
in the thighs of lower ones.
My position is in a place of disagreement
and the unsatisfied rumble in my tummy
will simply fade and be forgotten.

A cultural revolution is hiding behind the face of Tokyo’s finest geisha.
And she looks pretty.
"My underground, supersonic bullet train is faster than yours,"
she said with perfect symmetry in her smile.  
"Oh?", I said with american gusto,
hoping for a new lead on my future.
"It takes me to the rising sun, where new parties breed," she said again.
Her beauty and symmetry was even better than before.
Then, she told me something that I didn't know.
“Shark fin soup, kama sutras, and virtual *** go well together."
.

I'm poison and I’ve reached maximum saturation.
Molten mercury flows through my veins.
And you cannibalise me like hungry wolves.   
-
We lost our battles too many times.
So now children have to save the world
while mom and dad crash-land into Mars.
Today we see the future but the past is far behind us.
-
Sarcasms great reveal is that love is true,
while love looks right into my eyes and lies.
-
Heathens wearing heathen armor
clash sword and shield relentlessly against each other.
-
So while you say, "good luck" and wave your hand,
I clench my fist and remind myself,
*I don’t believe in magic.

Calico drones line fences and gates
resurrected from old motherboards.
Iron and silicone in contrast with
the decrypted analog sound bites
made from mothers tears.
The lucky village idiots
smoke chloroform cigarettes.
And they all miss the carnage.
The unlucky idiots smoked anything
they could get their grubby lips on.
To be wakeful in the womb of schism
seems far more terrifying than parachuting.
But jump away little one,
for fear will make you mad
or it will make you stronger.

The snap-crackle-pop of the Medi-Cali T.H.C.
left me wheezing.
Then dragons and cerebral effigies
come at me with their teasing.

It’s pleasing to say the least,
I’m the man from which came the beast.
Rocking and trolling the northern hemisphere
peeping for a mortal feast.

And peeking through the one sided mirror
was a man who we would never know.
The time that we all lost it
would be the only time that he would ever show.
And you and I.
Well for you and I, it’s safe to say
that the terms are all we know.

A pedigree of me to me
and synonyms for charity.
What a tragic spell I’m barfing on,
next time I'll try the cherry tree.

Caught in the realm of a far greater society,
she would never taste true love on earth,
so she would have to travel.
Samsungs sorrow was held somewhere deep
within her forgotten past.
She fretted over the little things
she never got to do
and lost herself in replaying
every single angle.
Endless nights of tossing and turning
and revisiting feelings
through her subconscious left her lost to panic,
alone and in the dark.
She could hardly ever make out a discernable song
but none the less it was played,
by a man four billion light years away,
who she would never actually know.
From head to toe electrified,
and sanctified by reason
the ever knowing thought bot senses
wrinkles in that fabric that we knitted.
Call the tailor and get him sewing
for mans to good to be ****.
And there we leave the nameless patterns
of neural activity sufficiently spoken for.

I wish I was a haiku,
but it's too hard.

I saw you the first time at my minimum wage  job.
Vibrant and curly.
Every moment started slowing down
and as I counted the minutes you faded away.
With a big beautiful smile of course.
But no longer there.
Then after you left my sight
another image persisted.
One of you walking back into my store.
Nothing more.
But this image was long out of reach.

The second time I saw you I forgot to get your number.
I consider myself a fool for this,
but you were still standing
and looking at me.
Absolutely straight into my eyes.
I could hardly make your sandwich.
The eyes of my throbbing soul.
Without the hustly bustle of my own mentality,
I would have taken you to Mars right then and there.
With all your curly hair.
And all your ******* smiles.
My earnings for the biweekly pay
couldnt surmount the glory
that is your absolute stunningness.

So long foggy atmosphere.
Hello reality?
Is this really it?
The life I believed I’d lead was far greater.
The lord of kings,
or the sultan of squat?  
A hoard of useless things,
and a chest wound
that was mustered
from a buck shot.
The timing was perfect,
as was the definition,
no,
AMMUNITION
that I tattooed on my chest.

Truth.

"I failed to believe anyone and this is what it got me?"
"What?!"

Man I need to rethink this strategy.
The majesty of thy cunning has left my soul beside itself.
And I beseech your attention, cuz.
Well,
because
I need you now.

Here we are again.
At the insides of my conscious identity.
This wholly human entity.
The ever growing obscenity,
that helixes off into infinity.
The voice of a thousand
concentrated into two or three pounds
of intoxicating intelligence.
But still,
the utter lack of brilliance overtakes us.
I know I tend to ramble but
I wish I took the gamble.
Return me to the stage
when I first studied the dance.
I never found the gold
at the end of a rainbow
but I'd gladly try another chance.
Well, to be so bold,
even if I did
I’d still think it a shame so
I suppose that its better off I slept it off.
You know, bro?

Drunken stupor
Pooper scoopers
Give me a shooter.
Then riding scooters.
I found my wife
the one for life.
Working at my local *******.

Its totally deceiving,
the tales of the meaning of life.
Grow up,
go to school,
get a job,
work hard,
play hard,
pay your taxes,
and especially die hard.
But still my brain is running slower
than my online connection speeds.
So slow.
I ended the day spent and tired,
and filled with wasted deeds.
Bitter?
Maybe.
But who faults a man
for defining himself through his actions.
Ogling at the universe,
and simply breathing.
Meditation keeps me sane.


As you can probably tell,
my strife continues effortlessly.
Sliding down an icy road
with no chains
and my brakes at full.
When the tree comes to slam me,
I'll be ready.

A sinking ship at the innards of deep space.
That’s me.
An invisible speck on the tip of your eyes.
Radiating simplistic waves that change your mind.
Abruptly, I see an ambiguous image
of a godlike figure tickling at the back of my skull.
I find it hard to believe its lies.
Hull damage imminent.
But nonetheless. I follow.
As if compelled by some off worldly magic.
Then I ask myself as I hardly swallow,
“How do you know the nature of galaxy?”
and I suddenly remember.
Trial and error.

I see through your atoms.
I collect data on your likes
and engage in tactical warfare.
I dedicate my hours to spotting weakness,
then hop-jump-skip over them.
I crawl at the feet of great folks
who approach the world at full.
I become inspired.
Anti-protons and protons.
Nuclear particles that make up
the billions of thoughtful questions I have,
all without a voice.
Or an answer.
I exist in something like a game
but I never learned the rules.
I hopped scotch because its all I know.
I fight against the gravity that I create
and instead I choose to orbit
small moons and elegant stars.  
I crash into lakebeds
and leave everything dead and gone.
I am Man,
or at least some guy,
and that’s a good enough title for me.

I would stand by you if you had a better attitude.
I would love you if you were less shallow.
I would fight for you if you had a fight of your own.
I would listen to your problems
if I already didn’t hear them all.
What I wont do, is change for you.
I wouldn’t let you go without letting you know why.
And normally I wouldn’t ask you to change but I think you ****.

A mutant hung above the shack I called my own.
Crocodile fangs and bangs.
Wishing I was a creature like her,
she asked me to follow her to the sewers.
Being forsaken never looked so charming.
I liked her, so I followed.
She took me down.
She fed me snake blood and I mixed it with *****.
We crept and crawled through the filth
in search of hints to our own meaning.
She explains to me that in the sewers,
time and space become illusions,
and now is all that matters.
My shoulders began to sprout little nodes
that turned to feathers,
that turned to wings.
But I didn’t know yet how to fly.
She led me out of the sewers
and grabbed my by the hand.
She kissed me on the cheek
and as she flew away she said,
"Tomorrow we can learn to fly."

I never felt so undeserving.
Unnerving,
Swerving,
I look at you
your body curving.
Suddenly, I taste the past
and future changes fast.
Another sip,
then ride away
on whisky ship.
For another dip
in shallow waters
left my ankle twisted.
Left me feeling like id been ******.
Hardly gifted,
Id gladly drown.
My soul then lifted
To the lost and found.

I dipped my extraordinary toe into the cool waters.
It was colder than I had expected it to be.
And as I glowered at myself
in a mirror of sorts,
I discovered I wasn’t alone.

Deceptively perfect
and perfectly sculpted.
A body of total glory.
A glistening aura,
with freshly chopped wave.
A glistening fauna,
amongst all the flora.
Irreverently so,
she fit no humanly mold.
A creature to truly behold.

I behold the true embodiment
of the truth and the good.
And I certainly remember
the tales of the crude.
*Tatter becomingly of thy soul.
Please don’t develop an interlude.
Ive been laying while dying
underneath old coal.
Please woman.
Call my name.

A tiny dancer twiddles across my usually blank mind.
I’m defined by the choices I make.
Commercials are killing me.
I wish they were ads for cigarettes.
Maybe then it would make more sense.

Sensibly, I call you out from under the ground.
Just to see you dancing.
It had been a while.
And I feel my foot tap-tapping to the sound
of your body gliding all around me.

Magically inclined.
I'm defined by the choices that I make.

I tell myself,
"Go dine tonight on memories,
on the fleeting thoughts of misery,
the tale tell signs of ignorance,
and the blind reliance on energy."

My other self then chimes in,
"But the beast still silent,
hiding in the shadows,
waits to prey on you
as you yourself feast upon the world."

"Good luck with that, Me", I say.
Continuing my meal,
and cutting Me off short.

Thats the day I watched my ego walk away.
I try not to let it phase me
but truth be told it did.
None the less I bit the Bulleit,
the elixir to my problems.
I think tomorrow my ego
is finally gonna come home.

In Twenty thirteen
I learned to learn
And I learned to lean.
Mark off
The check box.
Mach 2.
Chicken pox.
We're Slowing down
away from the frown.
Back in town,
then out of town,
breaking down,
distracting sound.
*Then I am found
beneath the creature
which is myself.

Nagasaki failed and the lotus blossom wilts.
But he will never see it that way.
A man of fire took his time to take the shot.
And when he dropped the bomb,
the demons choir took a break from deceitful melodies.  
Though they were never really heard
they still beat barrels of rice wine,
which they've converted to percussion ensembles.
The music of our souls flowing and swaying,
while our disembodied toes tap to the melody.
Never again, Nagasaki.
Never again.
Such travesty veiled by inhuman reason.
And I follow it to the end.

Deep out on the rim of the galaxy
there lies a tiny place
that no one knows about.
It’s the place where all good things come from.
All the generations of and for love
and kindness and bliss and forgiveness
root at its source.
It is the ultimate destination
among our solar heavens.
Try to imagine a lost vessel,
isolated and tired,
hiccuping between the suns,
then finding the Great Milky Way's secret place of joy.
Our undisclosed place of love.
The place we all forgot.
Earth.
These occupants of the ship would be lost to reveling
at our earthly capacities for tenderness.
OH, the total bliss they all must feel!
Ahh,
be careful now you.
I've gone and caught you being optimistic.
Try to remember this solid truth.  
Equally hidden in the stars,
there is a place of evil.
One where the tempted souls
and sinners place their geneses.
A place of desperation and angst
and fear and segregation.
There is always a little a yin to the yang.
There is no one with out the other.

My soul is intertwined with metal and silicone.
Social interaction defined by discracebook.
My outlook, unswerving.
My very being, unnerving.
Consistently wondering what will come of my children.
And picturing how I will raise them in Meriden.
And of theirs, if they even exist at all.  
Now I stand tall.
Laughing at my own reflection.
A tyrant to myself.
Im packed tight with wires and GPS.

What a mess of humanity.
The man that I cannot be.
Groping and moaning for a woman I cannot see.
On the curtain of morning,
I wake up and go to ***.
Then I lay my *** down
and nod off to philosophy.

The crystal was perfectly aligned.
It exposed an image of the day I left seamlessly.
But it also echoed the future,
the design of tomorrow.
I wouldn’t follow my wildest dreams,
but I couldn’t say the misuse was improbable.
To the next phase in my elegant maneuver,
I gather the strength from my abysmal insides.
Wide open were the gates of hell.
I withheld.
Then continued,
as the outline of forever,
forever guided me.  
Time was traveled.
And as passing eras bettered my intellectual design,
I redefined the reality of Sir Hawkins.
Time travel.
So true.
My speed was increasing,
as was my very corpus.
And as it did,
so I transcended.
Amended  such as our legitimate antiquity
of the dickity desire.
The feeling of an outwordly choir
singing you to sleep while injecting you
with futuristic methyl-amphetamines.
I dreamt of better things,
but too late.
For I've descended into tomorrow,
and the decisions of the borrowed souls
will cease to follow.

The crucible was a battle
fought by two sinners
both likely to sell the other out
or to shoot one another.
One wore a necklace
of tight inlaid shininess and red.
It was laced with a satin bow
and imbedded with an insignificant little ruby
tied around her neck,
her lovely ringlets hid in the sunshine.
She knew her life was sacred.
Mostly she was right,
but christened in her own right,
it was never suggested to her
that there was any other way around.
The darker side was originally ambivalent
to the nature
of the afflicted golden ringlets.
Thrashing and fighting it,
he, the darkness,
was finally struck with love.
The ambivalent subsided beneath
the imaginary plinth he prayed at,
and there he prayed.
Retorted only through silence as most gods do,
God responded.
Each time the ambivalent shook
and chattered his teeth
as his fears were becoming
all so real.
Waiting to hear a sound
And nothing was there.
He understood the emptiness.
He was truly suffering,
but ultimately obliged to the goodness
of every single perfect ringlet
that made up the woman’s hair.
He knew the repercussions
of going on in other fashions,
and chose instead to end it there
before he had her locked in all their passions.

More the I drink,
The less you do,

So Death is walking with you,
And walking with you,
All alone,

The hate you breed is made for one,
And the drink you took was made for fun, So why is it,
you are alone?

Two hearts or three,
The more the strength,
Two tongues at least,
Should be the length,

The blood it needs to be pure red,
The worse it is to use the dead,
Don’t fail to use the ***** flail,
With rust and mold and hair assailed,

Then spit on dirt and churn the mesh,
For bone will rot like all the rest.
And death will take with curse and sail
And whisk you off to your own hell,

This curse is made with hate and power,
With all four corners,
And angels power,

Don’t doubt the strength,
Of birth and death,

The first and last,
Will be your breath.

My phone is about to die.
But to manipulate the future
I still must try.
Tweeting a word
for a fellow blue jay.
Swimming **** out,
in the dark of the bay.
Stark naked, star struck and totally faded.
It’s needless to say that I hate it.
Jaded
by moms and preteens with their qualms.
I still feel my growth spurt was belated.
Tomorrow the sun will set in the south.
And the days will forever be jolly.
The clouds they drip acid,
The earth grows us ****.
And our country’s providing the molly.

Smoke leaves my lungs and crawls
above the nostrils I call yours.
Unsettled you walked away.
Putting lip balm on your fingertips
and touching your lips together.
Smack, smack.
You are essentially a goddess.
Applying your balm and making me restless.
You should be ashamed,
but rather I am.
And that’s the magic that you have.  
The hold you’ve got on me is really more than magical.

Now, you blow your smoke at me.
I **** it in.
I love the sour tang
and the fact that it is yours.
Hours float on by
and memories forget to be made
but you were always there.
Puffing rings into my life.
Puff, puff.
That’s what we were.
Rings of smoke,
and anyone we passed
could feel our putrid dissipation.
And we stuck to the inside of cars.
And we never quite left the curtains fresh either.
And we made you all sick with cancer.
And we had no idea.

The angry tortured Screech of a long-awaited shot of fernet.
It was filled with chatter.
It was never good enough.
It was Salesforce lingo.

Its time to be left to my own devices
and rewire the circuitry.
Climb to Mt. Un-climbable,
defeat the monster at the top.
I fear only the reaper and respect his wishes
for his claws are scraping at our windows
every time we hit the pillow.
Don’t dive into shallow bodies of waters
and don’t forget to wear your sunscreen.
Bereft by my own unfruitful devices I search for solitude.

I creep through the dank recesses
of my stewing mind.
I search for meaning
to my ceaseless activities.
I grow closer to myself
and I learn to respectfully listen.
I creep, I search, I grow, I learn
and I am my own companion;
Only I will be there for the rest of my battlefield life.

The reflection of stars dusts your pupils.
Photons of quantum light are what I see
when look into your eyes.
I find that pretty amazing.
The distance of our gazing
flowing off into infinity.
With a trinity of futures
our souls are always glowing.
But the hypostases with you
are the only ones worth knowing.

*I bless the day I met you,
I bless the universe for making you,
and I worship you to the very core
of every atom in your body.

Stardate whatever.
The Klingons are attacking and my tricorder isn’t functioning.
Conjectural and anointing the furrows of my phaser blasted brow.  
There you are.
A messy image in the transporter beam.
Gleaming and swaying amongst the particles of dust.
“I’m impossible to save,” I say.
“So save yourself, this planet is about to blow.” I say again.
It seems our universal translator isn’t working.
Otherwise, you would have left me.
Trusting is the hardest part.
I’ll do without it.  
Beam me up Scotty.

Mind is melding
Molding man to mutt.
And sea is churning
solid shut.

So stop your dancing Picallo.
Ill let you know
when it's time to go.

Defining self
seems plausible,
improbable,
illogical,
and most easily psychological.

Time is flying
as time grows older.
Riding bike
and falling over.
Time is now
and time is over.
Always looking
over shoulder.

Then, I picked my pieces back up off the ground.
Proving grounds
proved me grounded.
Each bone ringing
hollow sounding.
Man starts singing
leaping, bounding.
Ten fingers clinging,
you’ll stick around
to see man crowned.
Underneath compound
to new found pound
which is grave mound.
Then, I AM FOUND
by accident of ultrasound.

So here you find me on the roof of my building.
Looking up to find me a star,
so I can name it.
I keep the name a secret.
Mystery keeps the world turning.
I put the name in my artificial pocket
and next month I’ll find it.
I'll pull it out and recall its place above me.
Its purpose, for you, still a mystery
but to me, a religion.
Forged by the great father of engineering,
I stand *****.
I am perfect by design,
but flawed for being made.
No pulse, but my mind is always beating.
Calculating stability, analyzing data,
crunching number after number
and finding a unanimous rhythm.
Time for me is nothing,
and thus I will be everlasting.

Porcupine flesh gilded the entirety of her skeleton.
No one ever dared near the beast.
Just to fear the beast.
Her stomping, poking and prodding.
With the peasants retreating,
she grows pleased with her malice.
I too left the battle.
For I know, that without a meal the beast will die.  
I pledge vows of waning mettle,
collect memorabilia
and stash it all in a box
underneath the California Live Oak
down on Mildred St.
A rightful place for things to rot,
along with every spiteful thought.
Mark the spot with an "X"
and next April all will be a distant memory.
Just remember.
*With out a meal the beast will die.

The ****** truth was eaten and whole heartedly gone.
There was nothing now,
but burning pages of a long lost love story
here for only moments more.
For every different moment lost,
your beauty never faded.
And it’s dreadful,
that even with such perfect eyes
you let me go unseen.
What I have seen,
is dirt.
Dirt that grows from mounds of gold.
And gold.
Gold that was lost to chasing beauties,
and to greedy bearings.
It would be great to finally know you,
the creature you are now.
You leave me broken and breathless,
but I’m bold enough to love again.
Crooked, bent, and busted.
Here I lie,
the man you never trusted.

Ok.
Real talk now.
I've totally been thinking,
for way too long.
How the sorrow of my life,
has had me becoming
the demon that I learned of
while I was a child.
Redo the birth scene.
Cut.
Action.
I cut off my last hair doo with a razor.
Then the Taser of said fictions
divide my molecular compositions
into fractions of myself.

And that’s exactly the person I don’t believe.
Myself.
Me.
I.

Define that one for me again Mr. Fromm,
the nature of man,
me,
the man who acts so honestly.

The hero,
or the villain.
I don’t ******* care.
But I'll bare the scab
for all my wounds.
And each time I fall,
I pick my fractions back up
and redevise.

I quantify the challenges I face every day,
by simple math.
Drought, starvation, disease and death.
They still never really add up.
Doorways to the nether neither proved,
nor disproved my sanctity.
So I trudge on.
The holy portals of tomorrow still guiding me.
Now, I’m not making any choices.
They are defined by a divination of the ancient form.
I just listen to the voices.
Bones and dice turn men to mice.
My situation defined simultaneously as I transform.
From a man to a mouse,
and still human.
Well hardly,
but we're not here to read of that.
Just close your wanting eyes and see the prophecies.  
Both at the end and at the beginning.
A fresh start to my advances.
This is the end and the beginning.

Darkness. That was the only thing left. Apocalyptic nightmares turned true.
Groups of families gather at Ralston Mansion packed tight into every room.
Tents pitched and quiet talking.
My tool was an axe that my family used for chopping wood.  
I carried it effortlessly and would never let it go.
The loss of millions seemed like a terrible joke.
A joke of which nobody spoke.
Exploring the giant abode was my new mission.
Gleaming the crevices and dark corners, until I come to a large empty room.

The walls are high, and centered in the middle of the main wall was a single outlet.
From it out pored a strange dark stain that patterned a beautiful fractal.
As I studied the design, the wholeness of the geometric patterns stunned me.
There was something behind the walls.
Bleeding through the ancient wallpaper, something lied hidden.
I was undoubtedly enthralled and decided to force my axe heavily into the seeping image.
Instead of a solid hard noise, a gushing chop persisted.
I hastened my blows to my own disgust and horror.  
For as the chips of wood peeled away the secret was revealed.
Packed as tight as our putrid tents were,
the masses of dissected corpses flopped and thudded and fell to the ground.
Before I could move, I was piled.
I was suffocating and gasping for air.
Then it fades.
When I wake up, I’m sitting on an airplane.
I'm flying to London, and I cant remember what happened prior night.

Wrinkled and warped is the face of wisdom.
That is the look of a good soul.
True as the physics of today and tomorrow.
Walking hard against the blankets of darkness disguised as light.
And avoiding the traps cloaked as trickling springs.
Heeding warnings that are followed for the pursuit of better things.
Ever ready, ever waiting, ever walking and ever listening.
All people echo in eternity but their reverberations are always different.
Tried and honest is the clatter that you will love.
So love thy self and rise above.

The dissonance of your resonating
image haunts my memory.
A drifter in dimensions,
the prevention that kept me from you,
was myself and my trajectory.
Not a man then
but some other lesser mess of a soul.
At first,
with your plasma torch of a self,
you took my hands.
I was left laying still in the dirt,
with my eyes to see and my mouth
to taste the horrid flavor of our tango.
As well as my heart to feel
and my mind to think
but this would be a schism of my senses.
Succubi eventually take them all.
At least all the ones that matter.
Then she kicked me out to Cosmos.
I was flattered at the beginning,
when you told me you loved me.
But now,
I'm drifting into the darkness of space
with my environmental suit,
that protects me forever.
Wandering and Unaffected.
I need a resurrection.

I'm seeking vengeance
for the missing feeling.
  The cold air of truth.
It never felt so unfamiliar.
So blindly she loves it.
She lets it take her away
to a simpler place.
  Golden skin and iron innards
  Flake away. Faded.
Failed and flooded to the brim,
then die.

Back by popular demand
being a ***** persisted.
I'm sick of yuppies in BMWs
that glitter the highway like cheap tinsel
and ruin my view of sunset on Sunset Blvd.
On top of that,
gift cards mixed up with chopped up plastic credit
rattle at the insides of my plump little belly,
and I don’t think its going anywhere.
*Although, I'm getting nauseous,
I wont ***** until the fat lady sings.
And if that's not long enough for you then,
I'll just see you in hell.

The time of crisis had us distressing the meaning
of each syllable in our dialect.
Im such a derelict.
The stasis I’m stuck in
had me believing the worst of it all.
Crushing.
Flushing and re-brushing
the paint on the distorted canvas,
which was our lives.
Ten lines and a million problems.
Pay attention to your symbols
never ignore them.
Dreams were made from sinners,
but the streams of time make all things thinner.
All things end in rugged ways.
When the tall bell rings,
only broken brothers stay.
With wretched tales of quarrels,
no barrels of whiskey can calm the bay.

Space is hardly the final frontier.
But, for now,
don’t you think we seem ambitious?
Shooting arrows at the clouds
could come back
to shoot you in the head.
Can’t you see that colonies on mars
would become a new home for problems.  
Seems desperate.
What do I know though,
I'm Twenty-Five and I haven't even graduated college.
But fears of failure make us see future
where our planets long since dead.
From that arrow to the head.
Salvation relies on a new years revolution
or something humbling like that.
But wait,
I shouldn’t write that here.
Big Bro is always watching.
I might find a man in black,
tap-tapping at my chamber door.
Not Lenore.
Thats when you'll hear me saying,
"Does anyone have a cigarette?"