if you have something real to say to this world,
something else will come along to fill up all
the available time; truth is the one thing
not allowed down here

the self is a repository that has been
collecting things since the first man
had the first thought, and if you don't
believe this, the primal fear of deadly snakes
still remains very much awake
in our dreams to this day as a warning
of imminent danger

your thoughts get strung out
from place to place
when you travel, and others
can read them like signposts
along the highway

i can feel you arriving before
I know you are traveling this way,
and the dying can be felt leaving their
bodies before they realize it
themselves; departures and
journeys are not what they seem
down here

loud music frightens in the presence
of others; the loudness will unveil
fragility and capability they did not
know you possessed

because I can be so deadly
at the heart of me, I must pretend
to the innocence of a child
or risk execution