What does anyone know about pain? For some it’s a last breath. For others, bead of rain. For those, it’s a purpose. For them, the inane. We scoff at the normal. We scorn the insane. It can be beauty. Or a dreary plain. So very different. So much still the same.
Wandering, wondering about a dream I had last night, dark. I don’t remember, but I think it was nothing. Literally nothing. Black. Dark. Empty. Long dream, short night. What is in my mind? Nothing?
Cowboy hats, boots and buckles don’t have a sense of suburban style. Every time I see someone wearing one of them, I can’t resist a smile.
At this moment, the day of Piglet is out of reach, far away. I wish the meek could inherit the Earth, could proliferate through birth. But there is no mercy at the bank. In the rank you file and in the file you rank.
Absent I, absinthe eye. Just wandering, wondering, why the box of tissue keeps so many secrets?
The speaker was a leaker of meaningless words. I had to listen, was on every channel.
On my mask, my painted face, a resemblance of the space between here and every other place.
A voice in the background, a psychotropic sound. Speak to me. Tell me the truth about sooth. Is it real or just another loftless word?
What does friend mean to me? I don’t know anymore. Everything diminishes, fades, erodes like the croak of toads, crumbles like oft travelled roads. Tax dollars pave the path to the politician’s pool, cool envy drool.
There isn’t a trophy for atrophy. For every inaction, no reaction.