The world I’m living in is getting smaller
The walls are closing in
And every thing feels
A little warmer.
Reaching out
(I’m wearing gloves,
too hot to touch bare skinned)
I feel for the impermeable skin
Of reality
Moving in
(I can’t breathe in,
the air is thick, congested.)
The partitions
Between
Dreaming and Real
Are becoming a radial blur
Of movement and confinement
Trying
(aspiring)
to share a space;
A geometric pace
Of shapes and shifting,
I am drifting
Only to sink
again
to the bottom
of the world,
where the stars are grey against
a pitch black (falling down)
sky.
Sing me a lullaby,
Close my eyes,
And sleep me through the
Slow death of falling walls.

Who is I?
In the Now. I am of true boi essence.
A writer, a recluse, abandoned only of fate: Destiny ever alluring in the palm of my hand.
Limited only by my own inabilty to be present in only one consciousness.
I am split between reality strings.
A permeant spectre, caught betwixt parallel dimensions.
At times incoherrant, lost in esoteric translation.
I am physic(al) - I of breath + flesh, perception being my holster, corruption my armoury.
Intuitively, i am harmonious, sanctonious, welcoming of illuminations and the darker side of each unfettered moon.
Awareness sleeps by my side. Each waking minute guarded. of commonality.
I am enlightened.
I am bouyant.
mobile, fluid-like in kinesis.
Conventional existense being the foundation over which i fly.
Arms outstretched, willing risk to be my pull.
Enticing Love to be my drag.
balance, mediums, equilibrium.
Lifted high amidst winds roaring with possibility.
I am stark in naked complication, although often prone to cover up in cynical, self critical analysis.
I am given of self; being the taker a refreshing discourse to which i stray accordingly.

Of culture i am a liar.
By nature i tend towards honesty only straying when survivalistic path need tread.
I am of blood,
private yet optimistically open to scarring.
By custom i am trained, civil, content.
Of instinct; native raw tongue, i am rampant, rapid in force, compelled to grow then emerge.
Only.
To submerge
is to take full scope.
i am telescopic
in view of A/all else to which i drown my vision.
I am unsure if i am young,
Although certain that my passage is still being lit by the glow of its entrance, dark passageways luring with their shadows and cavernous corners.
I am liberal, random in speculatory silence. I am idle, often motivated by industrial desire.
Mechanical in process, structured of cerebreal architecture, yet somewhat discombobulated in particularity.
Sporadic be my strain, its think tank choking always on the weeds of sorrow.
Essentially i am nothing: yet overwhelmingly everything.
I was
I am
I will
therefore i
Exist
to i as
A/all and nothing.
As yesterday is to tommorrow, and visa versa, i am a window, a door, a channel:
as closed as i am open.
Dependant only on my own deliverence of influence and potential.
Driven by the promise of future and the demands of my past.
I am a vehicle in time, my presence, my motion, my journey
is I.

I am lost and falling
Crawling, a shadow
Sliding oil slick against the wall
defined
By another man’s
rising/waking/dying
sun.
Not knowing how I feel
About growing old alone.
Alone is where I started
And alone is where it ends.
Not sure if I like
The way
My heart keeps beating
To a different drum.
Always the unsure
Forever unknowing
On my knee’s
And going going going
Down then gone
A day will come
A time will turn
And fallen I won’t rise again.