Before the mount, there was the desire-
spectacular tastes of the tidy and gentle kind
where refreshing blows push against the winds of time and place
and i become whole, complete once again
but the folly is mine, because that cannot exist.
and here i am as i am...here
contrary to the salty dreams i once dreamt
this place is a hole, a mess to get buried in
i didn't escape, but i came back to what once was
buried in the fashionable heap.
but there is a way to find the desire of the refreshed
and it comes through with the effort of patients
the clock ticks 123 like the body it moves
and to develop into the complete once again
I can't be because the glory has passed.
There are dreams, but, can they satisfy?
All hope lies in little pictures.
And ideas of the things that cannot.
Of broken jeans and leaves, and bark.
Cover me with that blanket. I see.
I am not right because I cannot be.
And I was raised by something normal.
Used to comfort, fuck it.
I'd take your woods if I could.
And melt your home away.
Questions
and it's hard when you have them, to answer them, and realize
it's always the pit
you eat but it never fills, so you question
and you ask questions, or you don't and you wait
it's easy to think of things, to always think of them
and never change- that comes with questioning
over and over, the realizing plays
and you realize the potential of every possible way
and you question the outcome or the path of realization
thus the pit, and trying to fill
