Awkwardly, I made my way to the back
To listen to the lonely performer
Pour his heart out over his guitar
And over the sounds of the crowd,
Too engrossed in their conversations
To enjoy the melodies unfolding.

With every transition they applauded
Politely showing their affection
And as the performer resumed strumming,
So did the chatter of the disinterested.

The lyrics were muttled, drowned out
By the inane banter surrounding the stage
But his fingers continued to dance nimbly
From one string to the next.

And for once I was happy
To not be the center of attention.

Can't sleep
These dizzy thoughts
spinning ceaslessly
relentless
in a cup

Half empty,
Half full?

Who knows,
But in the end
the mad hatter will
still wish you had
never been born--
A very Merry Unbirthday to you
to me?

Indeed

Round and Round
they go
mixing colors, textures
emotions, thought
into this smear of humanity

A stain on the background of my mind
as it clicks and whirs and calculates
the options, the weighted possibilities
the electrical impulses zipping past
the smear of confused, muttled anguish

through it, around it,
but the shock cannot
seperate the colors
the textures, the emotions,
the thoughts

The colors melt into grey
various shades of unvarying
reluctant gestures

As the cheshire cat
smiles and laughs like
the cookie crisp mascot
cukoo for coooookie crisp
I hear its laughter

Chuckling madly
at the mad hatter and myself
the mad hatter sipping
out of the cup of grey
as he sings about my unborn nature

Unborn into the world of reality
of sensibility, of responsibility

WAKE UP

I snap back
I look around
and do not recognize
anything at all

The area between clarity and
Indecision
Is where my mind always tends to stay

As it creeps into this colorless
Vision
Time melts and one night can turn into days

Grey Gray Grey
Bleeds into the fabric of my mind
Dying everything its bland yet putrid color

Ambiguous gestures
and a fleeting glance
Wrap their fingers 'round my neck
and they smother
Creativity, Life, Solitide
Noise Noise Noise
Blocking my creative release

As the muttled disposition
that my body defaults to
displays a disgruntled
shoe salesman
No one guesses at,
Knows what I go through
No one reads past the grey

Dissolution and no one
can see the clarity
In a cup of water with
stirred in dirt

The dirt keeps on swirling
and refuses to settle
To see the pearl
in the bottom of the glass
becomes impossible

The little pearl of hope
its white irradescent
luminescence
That reflects everything in
a milky white silk gaze

But no one can see it
past the grey gray muck
of muddled inquisition
of a muttered note of
agreeableness

sinister lback leaves
fall atop all our beds
roaming black currents
ghost like and fervent
brushing past a whisper in the morning dew light
with white pale membranes
last night insane
past pushing for love
past pushing for fame
past pushing ofr words
past pushing for hugs
a million words to desicribe nothing at all
two words to say everything at once
a gift
a loss a toss a boss
that never paid their bills to the one up above
that forgot that their last christmas
was given to a flying dove
fat and empty a rocking back and forth
touched by insanity
tounched by
inevitiablity
underneath the fast currents wrinkle time that is eternal
a learner
a teacher of the infernal
Corrupt, the original, a blistering medieval
all words and no play
makes any ****** man or woman
a dull and ****** boy
devil is in us all and theres nothing but these four walls
with the streets and the beats and corner store market meats
the cell phones and the pads of "i" and the lingering dead dad's
a plastered up postcard
of an incoming and bleached fad
fast and fattening and rough and tumbling and fresh
upstairs we'll meet
in the kitchen we'll eat
Paris and its streets and lover's in heat
wine pours down throats
as king's lower moats
a break from reality and a break from you and and a break from myself
Oh lo' the world and all of its miseries
What happened to the human mystery?
I do not know or do not seem to know the answer,
Floundering in a childish and electronically muttled despair,
a black mist of feverishness pushing the popsicle stick to the top,
friends old and new,
new and old remember their first note,
a clarinet plays itself as the washpan listens close,
almost hearing their imaginations in unified float
Topographic in science
Matted down love notes
Scribbled last words
To a mother who swerved
A pointed brow peaks its top from the crusty old box
Pandora sighs calmly
As she fastens the key inside the lock