the stream

i am troubled by the danger in the distance. the looming clouds that are pregnant with rain to bring spring greens, it will bring me down low where i used to stay for years and years, i dont mind the fall i guess, but the assent is far too painful especially when you do not know which way you are crawling.

my drunken friends told me to play music, they said i was a writer.

i just say what pacifies my aching, haggard heart.

my industrious father told me to do what i want, whatever it is that is reasonable to pay my warden off for loans, to be true to myself.
its time i let go.

my pious mother told me to study the law or join the clergy because

she believes.

my illusioned sister told me to do what makes you the most money for the least amount of investment,

because she is chatechized by her miser husband.

my stomach starts to turn over and under itself like a python balling into its coiled cave, a land mine waiting to trigger, but i am ok today.

the world told me to imprison myself, to free myself, to slowly kill myself, to slowly save myself, to love, to hate, but most importantly to live.

all i do is get sick. whiskey words, scorched earth, countless swears of love, all pallid compaired to a breif blaise constitution from 9 to 8. then i am a holy man, wanting to run from righteousness.

God told me to do what He wants
because He wants my soul.

so selfishness too is love, i suppose.

lightening bolts?
none.

laughter.
now,
remorse.
a curious repose.
disassured at the ambivalence, the weight seems to be heavy on the right, yes it is.
a kind of pulsing buzz, tactile only.

its all quiet.









like the calm before the storm.
i am stuck there at that pinnacle of a breath, pleading for catharsis.

halcyon, laudanum, jameson and jack.

i smoke. SOMEtimes...more scorched earth, more.

so we beat proverbial horses yet deceased. oh well. it cant feel the pain. PETA is laughable now.
but it prunes the aveoli in my lungs and my time too. as if some column is being ground down minuets each day. oh well


shackles, shackles. steel cold misery
down in a belly of a whale, a deep blue jail.


so am i a refugee in the camp of debauchery, victim to subscribed belief?




i told myself i would do everything because i cannot decide. so i shall just sit and watch it all pass by.