strange

what I feel is wanderlust
each time I think about it
my limbs succumb

my words are rust.

thinking and thinking (draft 1)

Lately I've come to feel that there isn't much left in the matters of originality or discovery in this world. That all of the potential in humanity has been expended. We've been here too long, we're reaching a point of stagnancy. Post-post-post modernism? What is this shit anyway. It's all be done before, we all feed off one another, taking parts to make a 'new'. I myself have tried many things only to find that I'm a jane of all trades, master of none. Who can run faster than the fastest now? Legs are only meant to go so far in a certain measure of time. Monetary devices grow in worth and thus reduce humanity to slavery, and empires into ruble. As populations grow, we lose our resources. More confusions arise and there are more suicides these days than before, more angst, more of the unsure. And why is this? Maybe all the people that left this world at will have it right? We're all spent, there is nothing left. All we could possibly do now is destroy all that we've built and start again from zero. Depression has become an epidemic, the 'idea of' is contagious. I'm far too impractical for this practical world now. I've lost all if any concern for my future or what I'll be, or where I'll end up. The only place I feel sane, happy or free is in my dreams when I sleep or when I'm with you.

Fall

longing to gavlliant
on the backs of the whitest horses
through the fields where
time can't be bought

from fallen trees

grows new incandescence
the earth and soil
in a binding contract
to rebuild and replenish
to take back what's theirs
the smell of cedar
and rain
the fire is out
but the heart beats on

she smells of sweet wine
and summer song
giving a reason
to carry on

surreal

to even comprehend
what things could go like
if they went accordingly
sufficient occupation
redeaming qualities
i don't even have fingerprints
to distinguish
myself from them

how can i paint myself
how can i capture the sky
i can't rely

I don't feel

like i'm good at anything lately.

running through flowers

up the hill to consolidate
why you're taking too long
to hesitate
i storm out and upward
to the telephone wires
up high for safety now
you yell to me to 'please come down'
but why would i?
why should i?
when you'll only draw blood
so when my wire breaks
i scamper across the gravel & stone
to a scattered cluster of forget me nots
and i begin to tie knots
into every stem
and when more of you come
i'll jump into the water
to swim away
to the bottomless parts
because you can't go
quite as far.