Perfection lives in a goldfish bowl.
Swimming in eternal lonely circles.
No bills.
No commitments.
What fun it has to be.
Guess The Boomtown Rats got it right
Maybe "The Fine Art of Surfacing" could be exciting.
(C) LIVVI

going through endless monotony
a new decision, but not for me
every day as it was and will tomorrow be
but how, how can it also be me?

greatness, i know, is in store for you
things you will never believe is true.
But  what do we do,
monotony starring back at me and you.

oh how difficult could it ever be
just doing something, just for me
people starring back, back at me
a jury and i'm the one to plea

enough is enough, "me being bold"
this story of me is done being told
my life, none other than me
will be the life i will lead

here i stand, myself and me
enjoying the feeling of being free
yes, lucky you might think of me
but freedom is also waiting for thee

Albums of our love,
Immaculate tales  .  .  .
Bound skins without film.

Despondency...
painful monotony,
familiar quilt-
morphing into me
weaving waves
of tidal loss-
an itchy loneliness

While the birds begin to sing their songs
The sun climbs silently into the sky
Fleeting dreams fade away at the breaking of day
The dreamer reprieved, he opens his eyes

He gets ready for work and puts on a tie
Fit for a funeral or fit for a wedding
He sees during the day but its only a lie
Truth to be found only when the dreamer is resting

As the sun creeps quietly down to the West
The dreamer lays his head down to rest
Escaping his reality to something more real
He attempts to lose himself in his dream surreal

Light sets the scene as it infallibly does,
The dreamer alone but feeling no fright
Rosewood, as usual, the door appears
Gold handle glowing bright in the light

Behind the door is an unknown world
A world without convention and without ties
The dreamer caught motionless in a reach for the handle
Indefinitely pondering a world without lies

While the birds begin to sing their song
The dreamer reopens his eyes
He could only think of the rosewood door
And how he did not want to wear a tie.

and here we were, the kind of people who try to stop the world from spinning so ******* fast. Killing time, making money to spend to make that time killing bearable. This made up our lives; but, for a few days in the year we truly lived .

A plane made of tin cans soars in flames through the sky.
Black smoke trails its tail as it plummets to ground.
I stand.
I watch.
              unfazed.
The nose of the jet crashes to  the earth and it burst,
into tin butterflies,
which undoubtedly, to the skies they return.
                                                         ­                      I wake.
in the same room,
in the same bed.

the same place was I, when the sun rose,
and dove into the horizon.

the same sky,
the same clouds.

the same smell of the sewage rising through the streets I trek.
the same people at the corner store that check,
for loose cigarettes, gossip, trash talk and street knowledge I bet.

I forget.
I'm confused.

What may be normal for you may differ for me,
when gang members intimidate everyone they see,
on the crowded concrete streets of Broad St,
bums ask for change for something to eat,
then run to store like ***** for cigarette.

Is this "Normal" for you?
for me, its as plain and repetitious as a scratched CD.

I wish you could borrow my soul to understand me.

rushing in,
rushing out;
running after,
running from;

a soulless journey,
with no direction no passion.
(the end--bathed in darkness)

time travels on,
yesterday today tomorrow;
an endless trail to the left--past
an eternal path to the right--future

it's the same story
in a different narrative;
a book, an essay, a poem:
10 pages, 10 lines, 10 words...

life is an empty surface--not adorned with ink,
not filled with words;
without an image, color
or theme.
(the saddest story--that unmarked leaf)

no meaning no reason.
to nurture and to guide,
to lean on or learn from.

nothing
to feed this blazing hunger--

the blackness of your pupils
is empty.
you don't know
what to long for,
what to dream of,
who to miss...
(someone you haven't met yet)

there's a void in your world,
I can feel it choke you.

nothing
to look forward to.

in this dark abyss, you ache.
for that unforgettable
sated feeling--of completeness, fullness,
like being whole...
(something you've never felt before)

you wish for that eternal shine;
like a part of you,
your element your soul;
warming you,
thawing through the frost
of your broken dead dreams.

hope springs, souring high,
to break that empty shell,
to ease that great soul from inside of you
out in the open--to let it breathe--
finally!

an idea an adventure;
to nurture and guide,
to lean on and learn from.

praying for something anything!
it will feed this dying hunger.

---

there's a light in your eyes,
I can see it shine.

something someone
can break the darkness.
find it,
embrace it,
blaze in that glory;

so bright,
that when the light floods through,
the only one visible
is you.

*(heap of ashes, kindled, into fire...)

Under a bold lettering of pinholes
  A night time sky cast in early essence
Lay - infog.the remains of a broken bell
  Hidden in a lost hum of silence,
   The first cries- a grebe or grieve..
For the time to rest our eyes is over
The blue starts to show again, slowly
Whats waiting in an envelope,
Fortune cookie type numbers odometer
Coffee
Our radio kicking back into itself
Folk take buses , trains, automobiles
Some walk- others sleep
And i . Breathe
And cough
Put my shoes back on
Come to a stop to-
Wait in line for a cigar
Go home and climb sore, not soar
Aching- into the only bed i long for
My dreams