Wednesday, October 5, 2011


searching for the petrified truth of the blues
characterized by some stench of smell
I am tired of thinking
shameful of some past performance

comforted when the morning light goes on
clinging to old hunchback bones
I am tired of performing
delighted that their will be no applause

unable to exploit the corridors of sanity
exploring denial without direction
I am unable to incorporate the Virgin Mary
drowning in complex doctrines

mournful for the destitute of weakness
transcending grace and salvation
I am examining the revelations of silent glue
fearful of the universe and beyond

listening to idiotic conversations with self
incorporated into another literary discussion
I am watching the absurd pain
travel to my left