Is this and that’s all there is before the thought becomes fleeting like the next and the day after, the clichéd story your mind perhaps upon this future mystery of a happening you've already started remembering
Is this all we have to look for forward to wondering if this brain cell’s thought creative nerd to put forth on the edge on the confrontational abyss of a blank page is enough thorough fair and still contradictory enough to ride the grind of someone else’s nerve
We wonder Is this all there is because we could have sworn there was more than this to offer and accept and worship and appreciate and cherish and love and adorn with tiny boxes of truth on every branch of something or someone but we watch and wonder Is this what I was ever trying to say It just wound round into this something of something spilt on the page A little dialogue of soul tribes trying to call a little bit of themselves home.
I want to physically ****** my life I want to take my life out with a ****** I want to tear it apart with my teeth, gnaw at it with forgiveness blood on my cheekbones I want to hold it between my fangs and sniff at it with my liver I want to grapple it perfect, and inhale the bitter bite of its wild corpsey stench And then, I want to nurse it’s beauty and unwholelyness.
There is more. There has to be more.
More than when you haven’t finished your question and the answer is I haven’t even finished my beer yet you wonder what was the question that you heard You want to hike through golden gate park and do some shrooms? Have you ever climbed monkey bars at midnight? Why are giraffes so tall? Why is my internet connection so slow when is seems I need it most?
And it all shovel pours into the question Is there some flux capacitor continuum where time is enough where time for me isn't separate where time for me is always enough?