Stream

A steady flowing stream of smoke

Half thicker than a finger

Is a life one leads

Devoid of appreciation

Yet

 

something in the sound

Of a stream of water

Flows much louder

 

And a flood of desire for change

Fills the space

that you fill

And reaction moves slowly

And it seems it always will

 

But the hope for exponentiallity

Is seeming to come through

Through the push of being natural

And being sick of sitting still

 

But laziness is natural

And force is always bad

But it isn't

A dad can verify

As can the raging tides

That penetrate soft beaches

And reshape roads and rocks

 

Cuz everything is changing

It always always will

And death is just like living

It's all an endless spill

 

And this spilling of fellow lives

Is difficult to lift

A liquid through your fingertips

Worth more then what we chase

Worthy of effort and sacrifice

And thanks to processes

That baffle wiser women and men than me

And help one find the truth

 

But truth is based on visuals

And sounds you think you hear

So here is not quite definite

Though

you cannot disappear

Or wake up

 

Seems to ride the stream

Is logic in a dream

And Why

There are many waters edges

And doorways to the sky

And limbs to hang off of

And ways to ask how

And what

And where

And why

And who

And routes of right to take

And why

And a journey may not suffice

In an under thinking eye

And an ending is an ending

And a walked path is to die

As an all familiar rhyming

And a line is just to die

And why is futile halitosis

Of a wasted lucky eye

Dirtbag

The space in which we inhabit

Should show evidence of our existence

 

Within realistic and functional reason

 

Frequently used fabrics should recyclably clothe the container

That contains our material existence

 

Empty, uninspired walls, floors and windows

Keep us tame

And content

 

The purpose and usage

Of the necessary implements of consumption

Should remain

To be seen by their users

 

A facade is created

in cleaning and washing

We forget what we are

Our filth and waste disappears through machines and solutions

 

Let us never forget

The tragedy of being an animal

 

We are animals with specified locations for our animalism

 

I should speak for myself

But I am sick of such exhausting standards

 

Germs? 

Yeah right.

 

The inhabitants of caves were unexceptable roommates.

 

Jump

From though to thought

Conclusion to conclusion to statement to statement

Points proven

Drown

submerged in illusion

Fame

Production of hopeful good reception

Is nothing more

Than the ass of a whore

Life

It's

Restless

And forced

And lazy

And hopeless

But hopeful

And proud

And too hard to comprehend

The love

And appeal

And process

the luck and joy

Or the sadness

And loss

And appreciate the

Luck of the draw

And feel for the one next to you

Who got a shitty hand

And looking at your hand

Gets you nowhere

But you're already there

So the why in

Why try?

Is answered with

A single option

Of living

Smart By Comparison

Baby blue violet former green

growls

in your direction

and

forms an erection

of discomfort

in the stomach

of your former comfort

And deters your dirtier thoughts

For a moment or two

While you

Pick your bearings up

Off of some

Too clean

Surface

That feels and looks

Like the face

Of someone you knew

Who

Made you feel quite smart

By comparison

Epiphany

Another wellish thought composed in brevity has left

And my mother will never seefeelunderstand our connection

 

I'm stuck on a rowboat with Thoreau

And my fear of lost epiphany has come true thrice in one month

 

Epiphany is though an empty bottle maybe

A poorly made drink at a bar

That doesn't quite do the job

And reiterates self awareness of too much

Self awareness

 

Animals are just plain plain dumb

At Least

Lose the overloaded market scale

Off your heavy chest

 

Stop

 

Stop

 

Slowly

Contemplate your luck

And appreciate where you are

 

Alive

At least

Whores

Why don't you kiss my ass

 

I fucking hate hookers

And models

One in the same

Selling different parts

 

Just like me

And the "creatives" I know

 

We sell our parts for money

 

We are whores

All of us

A collective of whores

A bunch of prostitutes with an arsenal of bigger words and better reasons for surviving

 

Iweusyouandthem survive on whoredom

 

I am not negative

Ho-pefully realistic but knowingly bitter

 

This room full of us makes me sick

And there is a mirror in the bathroom

 

What an asshole you are

Hat

I'm always wearing a hat.

Literally,

I always have a hat on.

End

My feet of bread have toasted to a perfect shade of pink

The just too warm feeling resonates from the valley's volcano

It keeps me feeling comfortable, if a bit to scared to think

 

I avoid the punctuation of purpose and end

But it's a natural inclination

It's hard against to fend

Knowing these words

Have met their end