There is security in crossing the threshold,
To mixing breaths and beating hearts.
Not knowing if you will journey home
Is torture, but nothing when compared
To wondering do you even live here.

there are no answers coming in the night
nor clarity in morning that is why
we seek for explanations on the fly
in earnest wish for ending of our plight
but nothing comes there is no vivid sight
all's grey and dullness settles on each eye
there's no firm sanity we can espy
the universe seems ordered by mere spite
when we were children we were told that cause
and effect followed by a straight decree
of nature's and the world was really plain
to adult eyes but now we have no laws
to follow and we find we are not free
since those who want to lead us are insane

in the end
when corridors
stand empty
lights turned low
linoleum buffers
working
back and forth
promise me
no lingering

God, who can tell me the difference? as if
I even care about the difference, I know because I feel
The difference, I can feel it, life is so real
Because what difference, does it all matter…?  What? What can
Be the reason for a difference, when there can’t be any difference
In me. It is there, I mean, I can see it, smell it,
The Doctors told me it is there, and now I cannot see the difference
In whether or not, I **** well take it, smoke it, drink it,
Hell at the difference!  I will not be any different except happy, except
Sliding down the path of feeling good, even though for a short time,
Even though for anytime, what difference is there anyway, does it, will it all make?

   (an easy feeling of sliding, so downward, so fast, falls on me, falls
   like the head of a pin, looks up and sees me, as it feels so **** good
   with just a glimpse of lakeshore looking backward, over my shoulder
   as I sit here. no television. the sound blaring. and it is off. and the window
   is down, and I am riding. in the car that is not there. better off.  the distance
   looks crowded, and feels so pretty and nice. and life is mine and there are things
   that make me look. this way.  then that. and make it all blow the dust off
   and leave. me here. crying and feeling your arms. while your gone. and feeling
   her arms wrapped around me, and knowing that she will likely *****.
   and moan and gripe, but who cares because now it is gone,.and an extra two
   on top of two. and that makes four, god it makes four. makes four. makes four…)

     *   Who can tell what sleep I have had, nothing no more than a minutes sleep
         Is why my hair looks the way it does, and make-up is not made up and
         The sleepy feeling grabbed me strong and put these jeans upon my body
         And they are mine, they fit, I swear, and the sweater fits too, it is not his it is mine
         Besides, I feel like hell and death have run together and have clouded me,
        And taken away my judgment, and left me here alone, can you see me?
      I know it, I know it, it makes sense as dogs make sense to lying in the grass
    And birds make sense playing in the limbs, and as I make sense, making sense
   Of the feelings that are lost to me now, and please, please, please, I do not
   Need the sitter, or someone watching me, or watching me die, please
  I just need something, a little thing, a little more, just a little more.

The lights through the windows
Seems brighter in their way,
In bringing forth the daytime
And feeling it on its way.
A walk through the cemetery
Seems to find its peace, as stone and marble
Form the days own face,
Like marks at the surface, each stone states ahead,
The eastern sun rising, making the day
Turn and find one pausing,
But to keep the tortured soul abreast
Life's dreams stay floating, and we
Rise and make life grand.

Watch out carefully for those you see around you, and keep it there,
to feel as though the ones who look and see are generally not looking
or seeing, but rather, that is their blank look. The ones that seem to
be looking away, keeping down their glances, always tucking
that chin softly down, and looking at the table, they are not the ones
you should be worried about either.

For they are looking their ways from the aspect that no one sees their look,
no one sees them. If you are being careful, watching the people around, looking
at their faces, and eyes, and seeing them be there, together with you.

Then, and only then, will you notice the bearded man; the gray beard
with the gray, half haired head, the balding man, that seems not to pay attention,
who seems to be outside the circle, without looking around himself
caught up in his own distractions, feeling the inside of his mind.

His age spots bring forth knowledge and intellect, that grabs one
and makes them completely whole within, then that is the one,
that is the person, the feeling, the driven one, you must watch out for
because,  before you know it, he'll have you, in his mind.

The castle walls are feeling thick and formidable,
This window seems blank, as night begins to fall,
And the fires of those outside burns in the still darkness,
The moth, flies, flutters by, inside then out,
As it feels a piece of the moment, fading away,
Knowing that in its reclusive movement, it will find its way
Awash, with knowing  much, trying to find its way back,
Outside, to the fresh air, where stagnation hasn't set
Where the feeling is still fresh, where the night moves.