Not aware of here nor there
And comfortable in solitude
So still and fair you sit and stare
To see what here is calling you
A pill on the tongue of life itself
An unbound book bound to the shelf
Often picked by passers by
But not for much more than one try
The eye is drawn but tapers off
To read at dawn more not than oft’
Ten days I sit and think of prose
As trains of thought just come and go
The station left so dull and dark
Now on foot through the mind we must embark
And tell the tales of nows now past
And reap the benefits at last

Pain is a word too many people understand
put upon others and wish did not exist
often placed upon one's self
forgetting a dream
i often wonder what life would be
had i not put my faith in Excess
would my eyes tell a story of pure emotion?
would my brain understand?
To Express
a gift easily taken
not to be returned in the blink of an eye
as yours will always come up Dry
your tears
wishing they were mine
without a whim to go on
he treads through the motherland
prepared for whatever lies ahead

car exhaust exhausting me
cannot be healthy for the tree
who offers us a breath of life
sweet oxygen which we breathe in
but she breathes in what we breathe out
so why not from our muffler spout?
and if emissions alter synthesis
then who's to say what we breathe is?

thoughtless drippings
fill the page
aries ripping
pisces rage
overflowing
not controlling
aphrodisiac
attacking
the undertow
far below
you're falling further than you know
you can't get hurt
without good cause
your foolishness
reaps its own claws

the place behind your eyes
you know where it lies
directly behind the peripheral vision
in strictly the mind for internalism
        the rhythm
direct south, pass the mouth
to the chest, the nest of rhythmic art
        holding a heart
exploding, reloading on every beat
running off of the music's heat
energy not created nor destroyed
enjoyed, rejoiced
never thought about the consequences of harnessing it have you?
the capitalism cataclysm rapes the earth, rapes the earth

rhythm saves

which side is real
day or dream
based on how it feels
not how it seems
a thresh-hold, marginal at best
to keep the sane from all the rest
in research we demoralize
the beauty held within our eyes
i cannot describe what i once felt
pure emotion, heaven's hell

making the best of a life?
or wasting the rest of a life?
who can tell the difference while they live it?
really enjoying your day?
or merely throwing it away?
if we do the latter life cannot forgive it.