The beginning of this
Break.
–Down
At its foundation
Fulfilling and self-reflective, and
Rousing and neurotic and bright
And perilous
–a fever-dream
¬¬¬
Shadows that have stopped forming,
      Dead
       All
The mornings are dead
The passion is dead
The feeling of the back of my neck –tiny hairs
      All
       Dead

That human side has halted
The “I-feel-like-a-*****-but-” thoughts, gone

All dreams
All barren, with less than profound meaning
******* dead, behind the wheel.
Car trapped
Inside of a sad self-absorption

A frozen-inlet, a fissure in the glass-jar
Road paved with the litter of the late
Night, bug-eyed witless carbon copy Phish fan
Grave yard shift –stick worn-down-brain
Lazily-littered, empty-shell of a
Bottle flung, down to the pavement

Down, into the gutter

Down, into sewer

Which sweeps, down into the **** Heavens
And sits
Down, endlessly
Dreaming only to return
Into life

The insanity
The heartbreak
The fears
The passions
The talent
The jokes
The sickness
The *******

Where it all starts
Where it all eventually sleeps
Where all of this **** came full circle
Where the mind can return
Where the body can lay,
Down

At the beginning of this.
Break.
–Down