A vase sits in a room
A man walks into a bar
Har har

The vase fills with dust
No, it’s must
Har har

The must becomes sludge
A dreary drudge
Har har

Sludge solidifies
And slides out


A vase is made for flowers
Flowers are made for sun
The countryside
Is overrun

Putting off things we think we cannot do,
Making our lives a waiting room.
Getting to grips with the past,
Having a manual for the present.

Taking advice, from enemies,
No directions exist.

Using our own resources,
Trying to get closer to
Ever closer to
Love

Love is perfection.
It is unattainable;
It drives us, forever,
Towards the end.

Where the others are
Is not here
Where I am

Nodes in a network I feel their presence
In the world
Knowing they exist
I cannot move towards them
For reasons unknown

Oppositely drectioned forces
Make a whirling pool
They drag in and out the particles
From the vacuum

The array of choices
Lies unread locked away
It requires interest
Entropy waylays

The diagrams are skewed
In a wind inward
That is captured
In line of word

The pull is downwards
Arbitrary assignations
Make that so;
Graphite legitimations

Splashed into boiling water
Swirled on a spoon
Milk makes clouds in brownness
A splodge makes a moon

The spoon stirring causes chaos
Man watches and waits
For the cooling and the stillness
Of this drink of the greats

Like diligence
In matters of the heart

Like dignity
In matters of the art

Not spontaneity
In terms of start

Losing a sense of my own weight
Finding only your weight
And how it is greater than my own

Noticing how the earth
Pulls me
Downwards

You appear in my dreams
My mind is no refuge
There are scars on the walls

Time passes in bursts
Only regulated by thoughts
Of you.