it is hard for me to admit … i have no stories to tell … only scattered brain flatulence with the same day to day recessary ratio … for health they say … i believe in non-belief and potential and that is all … paradox prone as i am … is action as necessary as life? … it is always lacking as my precieved intentions … an antipode of afterthought amusement … slyly fucking up right and left so there is no suspicion or confusion of humanity… just quiet quivering thigh … painfully aware of the space and my personal coordinates inside … surrounded, not surrounding … that there is separation no matter how hard i clutch skin and your guiding arm that fell away long ago … there is pain when i realize i am standing straight and walking … but it is on a foundation of mystic ghosts and mysteries i could not even explain to myself …
let alone you … what is comfort to me? and that is discomfort … that i need to be dissatisfied because simply that is inexplacably who i am … no one has to understand for it to be as it is … it no longer bothers me as in the adolescent wonder why … i still wonder why, but with more conviction that it is the questioning more than the product answer … i question you because it is what i do … i’d rather you slightly ask yourself than answer me …

i cannot remember science but i can live in it … just as poetry is experience it is also preternatural and speed conscious … some say poetry is life … i think life is poetry … an essence of the rhyme and truncated, pinpoint thought memory … i learn today, but silently … good vocalists have also been able to drink water while dummie talking and i am not prey …. not as much as i used to be

and the blue nights would light up like fourth of july fire works on hype days of lore … long ago like 90s fashion … this is film, real delicate silver gelatin print, digital oblivion … this is history before my eyes … and they were beautiful lights against the horizon cloud lines… i believe, you see, i believe in things … but brights lights in the sky aren’t always fireworks of independence and numbers can mean human lives on the tv screen … i sit in blanket comfort distance … still cold as if on the melting ice polar … opposite ends of the earth … refrigerated crisp and ready for years of storage .. they say a week can be productive in war … we can get a lot accomplished with thermostat ideology … technopoly … smooth aerodynamics i always ran my hand over on those new cars … fast and furious, furled and nauseous … i rock back and forth as if the earth were shaking and it is … there is awe and i remember a promise once that we would always be looking up at the same sky … that sapphire, midnight 30 sky … i suppose skies are actually different and some atmsopheric discharges are authentically Iraqi … i ran outside to see that promise in my sky, that same apocalypitic flight, that same invasion glow, that firework destruction, the green background blur of cities against orange fire … yet all i could see was a sheen of empty speckled black lying … it is blank and will not tell me if it believes in anything anymore …