September Harvest

It’s come to this.

more peace. More peace of mind

jutting suddenly to the left 

as if being struck by an invisible object

obsessed with carnage

violence and impunity

like oil seeping into tiny fissures  

and all I have to say

The thing about power is: it’s not even

Where radiation pours down on my terrain incessantly;

With a match this would be a firestorm

and I bleed water here

at a great expense that cannot be fully understood

in the way that I love to vandalize things

is not so apparent to the layman

however

it takes a lot to lift oneself

and it’s always proportional 

It’s not what you want it’s what you need.

And you Fucking Need to understand this

As if each foreign noise is cause for suspicion

There is nowhere to run, that matters

As I am constantly overwhelmed by the thought that I cannot articulate how I feel in this reality

It drives me fucking crazy

In a world of piety and righteousness, (I am the Golgari)

We defeat things by making a mockery of them

And seek to entrench ourselves; so that others will not make a mockery of us

the answer is apparent : : take the initiative

in any direction

that leads you where you need to be 

along this road, I have learned to exhume some kind of strength

because a twitching hand sequesters a shaking one,

in a way like chasing a phoenix through the dark places of your mind

becomes an insatiable search for perfection

like crushing a snowball into ice

the problem that presents itself then is a systemic one:

practice pursues perfection forever

you can never do anything too right

a fatal blow can never be too clean, a tree can never grow too  well

(a love can never be too perfect)

  like all nerves, they must make connections

and in this fractalated universe

the dimensions that must be traversed

are difficult to express with words

in a frivolous attempt to conceptualize

a thing that must be experienced