Tuesday, March 18, 2014


The cauldrons bubble over
When I think  I’ve got it just at smoldering temperature
The tiny objects that we seek that mean things to us in our lives
Seem to define where we stand with ourselves
Our lives.
And are attested to express what kind of people we are
What kind of people we should be and become
It expresses a lot of ‘Whats’ but not ‘whys’
And im too fucking impatient to waste my time with things that are so remarkably pointless.
The way that things should mean things to people
The don’t ever seem to realize:
Your wow factor has a way of making all of us small
And there is a path through the aether that will force us to lean back
There is a way of modifying probability
There is a way through the dark by taking a step back
There is a way into the dark

Our hands give way to our dreams
Our hearts give way to our mind
And yet, it is not all of our players
And more and more we seek some sort of atonement for things that we had no part in
As though we’re guiltable animals
And owe our masters a great debit that can never be repaid because of its impossibly benevolent nature that we can’t possibly fathom due to our own personal level of self-inflicted smallness
it’s so painfully obvious to those that can see
time is far more precious than you possibly realize, and yet it is somehow also infinite and abstract
it is all things

for my part I find that it is a crusing pace
dialed in; I think your center is like some snowball crushed into perfection
some resonating conviction pressed into  steel and stone and flesh
that grows like a tree through our understanding of the internal
and external worlds
and I am driven to it out of some kind of strange charity
it brings with it adventures
there is a kind of human delight
in seeing

and being seen.   

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