A friend, now states away,
left me with cherished spice
that he so feverishly loves
and I tolerate in memory
We spark to him
and smile in pain
and hope he does the same

Lustful contortions of harmony
or absence of harmony?
I fear suffering
is self taught
though as is that very phobia

Lie in bed
with me
and open your eyes in intervals
as to see me open mine
This formula of life
you so crave
is seen and acknowledged

The blueprint you grasp
is expected
I know
What I contort is the **same

In feeling
I feel like I am alive
I could attribute this importance to anything
Yet the choice
is a blood flow
distributed over six lines of irrelevance

In this electric wind
I've found a senseless care
A prevalent doubt of the sound
heard as a cry of the masses
Drowning out observation
I am told to learn
from some instructing voice
and to disregard the question
of where his knowledge
and right
do actually come from
I'd rather dream my own Bible
I conclude on my own
because of intuition and independence
logicality?
or fear?
I refuse
for the same reason you close the book of mystery
and conclude
My head hurts and I feel eerily like you must have

My eyes sting
and I'll be without comfort
for 5 or so hours
Feel good this Monday
or risk all that last night and tomorrow morning
was and will be worth
Sometimes it's hard to tell
if you're afraid of death
or just want it over with
or just need
deep sleep

An album of a friend
drones as I try
I try to console myself
with a pencil
Staring at a filling page,
nevertheless ever suspended in time,
found is an uncertain ache
and this ill desire to drag
I break for flat soda
or to look at the clock
or to look forward a few hours
and feel no better as the last song ends
and I write the final word
of an unfortunate poem