The Place
Shake the growing boundary of confusion and become one with comfort. Listen to the addiction in the mind and control it to reach total bliss. Portal away into a life of love and filth. Take a moment to exhaust the body to the point of human waste. Refresh the eyes with a wash of milk and satisfaction. This is the place and state I should be. The place of living and the state of death. The place of all.
Season
The cracking of the multicolored legs on the cold pavement, come to warn that winter is near. The ancient trees all around bear all for the world to see. They seem to be on a judgment mission. The spikes are very cold to the touch, but remain very green and protected for now. I can feel the breath of a giant from the east it pierces my skin like the sting of a bee. Where have all the bugs gone? I don’t know, and don’t bother to care. I am happy in the arms of this season. I think maybe because there is no sun.
REMEMBER
When did the garden with its buried flowers start to smell like a funeral home? When did the mild breeze passing our foreheads feel like the back of a nurse's hand testing for a fever? We use to be immortal in our ignorance, sending our kites up for the lightning to ride, swimming in unknown waters at night naked for all to see. Death was actually a safety net to catch us if we fell to far. Remember the girl named faith? A child in one hand a gun in the other. Distracted with wondering thoughts in her head. The musician passed out on the stage when faith decided to go her own way, to show her child the power of her mind in an upsetting way.
IT ALL ENDS HERE
We don't hear what we listen to. Only a few words pop out at us, this is good because the unknown is better.
The hole is an optical hole with force fields of fire bent and curved with cool blue lines that lay in the dirt the fly lands on. Tiny particles soft to the touch like a velvet wall. The cracked serpent appears as the desert sand with one-foot step this appearance is real. As the lily pad barely bends in the hurricane, or was it a tornado? Who knows what the spider in the pink house saw as her web was shattered and broken? The scattered remains floated across what was left of the room. In the window seal a single piece of glass remains, numbering the lives left. Extinct we now are for the one left died of confusion like the world.
