My socks are soggy
with yesterday's dinner,
a couple of nameless
heads laugh in the background;
what is empty space
without the concept
of occupation?

If it isn't the tiny
dots that string
our precious molecules
together, it's something
else entirely.

There is no brain
without the fluids
of perception to
saddle it down;

the weight of thought
consumes our shadows
tonight.

I take off these socks
and put them aside,
I'll wear them for the third
time tomorrow.

If it doesn't rain,
I'll be fine, I promise
I won't complain;

it's such an easy action
to commit oneself to,
but like I said earlier,
I promise I won't do it.

The lapping of water
emits rays of subtle sound;
as though it were routine-like
calculations of the complex kind.

I bite my nails, I count to ten
in my head, but there are only
images of said symbols,

the number one is a man
resting on stilts
reaching for the sun.

The space
between the skin
and the star that
melts it

is a parallel reminder
of the thing all of our
vessels contain yet still
desire to obtain.

I'll wash the dishes tomorrow,
or put it off till next week.

I should call my girlfriend
it's been a few days since
we last talked.

Its been even longer
since I've seen her naked.

Guess I'll open a book
I haven't read in a while
instead.