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
This is old