Music gives my eyes a tunnel and my mind the universe. This much I know and recite in verse- or, prose, well. However I may carry my words, they will do all frequencies a severe injustice. That is why I feel no need to describe the ether and the fluids that compose a tune. They simply are, anyone can perceive and dissect for themselves. The words, they serve to underline the story that an ear might not obtain from music. I aim to achieve a functional, symbiotic, conversational existence with these two chaps. One day, it’ll be great fun and my mind will sideflip its merry way through scrolls of papyrus and the speeches of lutes. Until then, it’s apparent and essential, necessary, to be trudging my forlorn way through the badlands of my cranium. Who knows? I may occasionally find myself an ardent hoodoo to comport my thoughts on. I will live for that and die for tomorrow. By increments, of course. I must believe that we’re not all imbeciles, here.

Page sticks to oneself; indentations upon indentations. Soon, it will all- or perhaps later?- it will all homogenize into a gestalt; a brain. Then, not long after that Exodus of the Neurons ™, the piece of wood will reanimate, shaking my hand and fishing for planets simultaneously, like any other sentient being that remains aware of the dome domain above us (or adjacent to?)
This is no performance, it is mere proof that my stimulant is optimal, that I breathe with vigour in my feet and weight in my fingers. It is a display of my gradual decay, foretelling the prognosis that I dare not utter: what can I do if I fall under Alzheimer’s heel? What then? Will I forget of the paragraph that I had just written beforehand? This pen, will it treat every word as a home to rest its riches in? This vagrant of a fool, he must remember his treads, the soles of the people that have led him to wherever he’s gone. What is the Joker without inspiration? What is a dancer without awareness? What is a figure without substance?

where he closes a door he opens a window
or so i am told
for every door closes, slams shut behind me
and turns into a wall

every wall solid, brick, concrete
impenetrable and grey
no cracks, nowhere to slip through and escape
i run my hands along the walls, feeling for a flaw
i find nothing but scraped palms

i hear voices on the other side
i hear people talking, praying

every voice muffled, muted, hushed
indistinguishable and grey
no words, nothing to slip through and help me understand
i scream and scratch against the walls hoping to be heard
i find nothing but raw psalms

i feel around for anything
a hammer, a chisel, a light switch
something to save me

but all i find are things i've thrown
plates, pillows, a shattered phone

the walls are closing in around me
they think i don't know that they're moving in each night
but i taste the closeness of the air each morning
and i know i don't have much time left

i don't have much time left

sometimes
i feel poetry in my chest that i can't express
purposeless unconfessed a mess that i try
to gather in my hands but
like sand it
slips from my grip, a
confused clutter of carelessly uttered words of
affection
there's no direction to this
senseless stumble of a poem no way for me to
spill my ink in a pattern that will show you
what i think and hope that you already know, you
are the world and i
am a fool for trying to fit your everythingness on a notebook page

I'm swimming in a stream of consciousness
rare is the occasion I get to rest
I'm swimming
sometimes drowning
inside my head
I need rescue
help me please I beg

I was running wild with the wind once
against the current I flew
through the glass window I came suddenly
and fell into this room

I'm a fish not that big
not a whale or a shark
more like a salmon in the dark
at the bottom of the ocean
where I'm not supposed to be

I'm out of breath.

I'm a fish in your aquarium
the one you never get tired of looking at
you watch me do the same thing all day
how I get bored and lonely inside my rock
you watch me grow until I stop
I can't learn anything new
so I hide and play by myself

Once you dropped me on the floor
desperately grabbed me and took me home
I slept like it was my last day on earth
'cause you never know what's going on in the universe's mind
I thought I should've died before
but when you're being killed the instinct is to fight

I wouldn't mind stop breathing though
I wouldn't mind not having feelings

Fishes have feelings too
I'm afraid of the dark too

Here in your aquarium I get to see the most wonderful things!
how your cat almost swallows me
how your fingers get nervous when you're excited
and I can see everything
'cause no one sees me

Maybe you should take my eyes
'cause I can see through yours.