I was at a bar,
Against my will,
I don’t drink…
Alcohol.

The people laughing,
Hollering, Wallowing,
And swallowing the
Brew to a counterfeit
Reality…
A reality of invincibility,
A reality of incomprehension,
A reality of  abstract visions,
A reality of indiscipline,
A reality of the minds,
A reality of blurriness,
A reality of sheer…
UTTER Stupidity.

They stutter and stumble,
They rock and ****,
They slam and slam
More brewed bogus
Reality.

They call it an escape,
But while in that faux-reality
They forget;
There is no reality
More genuine,
More intricate,
More perplexing,
More marvelous,
More sobering,
Than one within sobriety,
Made from all
Natural ingredients.

photos freeze an instance
never again will any be the same
something will be different
the footsteps in wet sand on a beach
will wash away, but in a photo, they
remain impressed forever

life is a photo, you only have
one perfect shot, one perfect
frame, one perfect instance

a perfect moment that defines
all other instances
an instance that
all other moments are judged by
a moment that
all other instances exist for
an existence for only that
one moment that causes purpose

you’re the instance that other moments
live for in my photo… where are you?

like a drunken purple jellyfish bouncing on the ocean floor wall to wall (endless bobbing thoughts weaving back and forth) creating a computational machine (driven by emotion) the spark ignites, the babblings continue, rapidly, fervently (my words my mouth) numb, unable to express anything, say anything all I can do is gaze upon you with a witless smile who knows where I am, hearing you, not listening, all because you smiled at me, and I was chocolate silently dying in a beam of sun on a bright day in may

Lemmings living lusciously in tiny boxes all the same – splashes of color
the whirring buzz of a paved path lures them like fish to their shiny frames
drab claims to a cube – clickty clack,
guffaw guffaw goes the lemming in cube 102
cube 104 pounds and releases, click click click, whirring slides overwhelm the brain of the lemming.
Beep beep beep,
ring ring ring,
millions of delicate digital lemmings walking off cliffs
plummeting to their pasteurized expiration
glued to more tiny shiny brightly lit boxes wanting verbosity and novelty
superficial thoughts grasp until every little living lemming wanders into the last chest,
the box made of satin, and silk, hammered shut and dropped into a rectangle mounded with dirt.
What comes next – nothing but more lemmings living in smaller boxes to their expiration dates

The rumblings of traffic resonate muffled behind me I sit in my century old chair accompanied by my century old mind. A ding of the magic bell follows the crack and jolt of the muffled horn – muffled by the palpable self-ignited tension that a choice is near or already washed-out. The toot of the train tempered by the windows and drapes yanks me out of the cloud I sit upon watching myself perplex about a choice an unfamiliar choice. Which is it, the flower for me, or the flower that waits? Which cactus do I drink the water from – both will ***** me, but ripped from their home the cacti will cry inconsolably. Vague metaphors faced by a conundrum that isn’t humdrum my veins filled with uncertainty until I look to the cacti again