Woke up late from a nightmare
disguised as a daydream;
the mediocrity of life burning
at the bottom of my throat
from last night.
Failing organs and trying
to age gracefully
to keep dignity.
Dying every day.
Ten foot sunflower out back
like an anti-depressant that makes you ponder suicides.
Ten foot sunflower  can't find the light
but reaches out like there's something out there.
Ten foot sunflower can't run away, can't take the rain,
can't be desperate or in pain.
Ten foot sunflower has peace of mind through emptiness.
I woke up with canaries out my window
and broken organs in my head.
So, people tell me I talk too much,
and I find it hard to disagree.

Woke up at 4pm today
and remembered I have no dreams
that have flown beyond the cage,
and past the cage there's still
a burning coal mine.
Ten foot sunflower standing out back
trying to be a beacon in the night,
like a blind leader for the dead;
sending them down that river,
paper boats across a sea of lies,
and there is no right direction.
Once you set foot here you are
lost permanently.
No one knows if it even
had a beginning,
or if it'll ever have an end.
Woke up late with  a ten-foot sunflower
at the foot of my bed, harvesting canaries.

A car alarm stopped going off.
It's like being in a dream/nightmare,
seeing all these stupid faces,
seeing only faces you hate,
and after a while all
those faces look
alike.
Pressing palms against my head
and screaming till blood
shoots out of my nose;
I remembered a cold morning,
early enough to be night,
but late enough to be morning,
or maybe it was
early enough to be morning,
and late enough to be night?
I was staring at a grocery cart,
peacefully coexisting
with the parking lot
while I waited for the bus
with not a soul up and out
except myself.
I walked across the street
and kicked it over, and
kicked it a few more times.
I returned to my side of the
street unscathed [victorious].
I may have been late to work,
but I certainly didn't give a ****.
Some lady
coughed up blood
while I rang her out and
I think about suicide
out of habit now.
I'm a ghost that haunts itself,
except which tense is more real,
or did I mean,
who is more valid?

I'd make art that wasn't the equivalent of processed
microwave food, without the "gourmet" label.
Then again equal validity in creation is only debatable
if you're an ******* who believes any of this has meaning.
If you're taking yourself seriously,
you're going to get ****** up by
the **** end of this joke; Art is more than these
observable qualities of reality. It is beyond us.
However, everything we are is made of the stuff.
We are art. Life is art. Life is meaningless
Art is meaningless.
We are meaningless. You.
You are meaningless as well.
Roll on snare... None of this holds real validity.
Abuse of cymbal.
In this lifetime I want so many things that simply
will not happen. She says my "dreams" are floaty
although I know I won't live to see them.
Life flies by so fast it's a wonder we don't get
tickets. I want light that moves at 40mph
and scorches on impact. Explodes like fireworks.
It should glow; green or blue.
I'd use it to cook these dinners,
burn these notebooks,
**** these mother
******* guitars.