Digging through the trash.
Maybe it’s in the trash
Maybe it’s in the trash
Maybe I threw it away
I've looked for it everywhere
It’s lost and it’s nowhere
I can’t find it anywhere
Maybe I threw it away
Is it in the trash.
I’m now digging through the trash
Looking for it.
I’ve become - It’s made me become
Wanting it - has made me
Made me look through my trash.
The worst is when you keep going, now you are in everyone else’s trash
Our Trash- theirs and mine
Now I’m in here and now I’m trash.
My wanting to find it has made me trash

Begone. How can words contrive us and control us? How can marks in a row make us? How can they hold us? there freedom from these, these that you are now holding inside, holding to a vision of us. Representatives, sensitives, senses, tenses, tensions. a person can not have an identity without the signs that are made by these characters. Our characters, our actors. Act out Our hunger to be identifiable, cultural, optical. What’s that membrane, that’s permeated by the self and the social? Blind self image, spectacle of the self seen in the mirror of mind. never do you mind. You Perceive then leave. Perceive then leave. We Perceive, then we leave. We leave. We, Be, then leave. We Be leave and are gone

The vessel joins us, we embark together.
We huddle facing in, a face looks away.
The emptiness at the center,
a gape for a face. We turn incessantly,
we form our protection.
We protect the emptiness, one turns away to see your circle.
My vessel fills and becomes bloated,
it takes on the weight of the darkness, bursting at the seams.
There stands a snake amongst the circle,
the snake now is standing.
There is no up, and the snake stands in this circle.
Next comes the fire, and we will see if we crack apart.
My arms are around you now.
We stand together in a circle with the space inside.