Lifes Work

A gross dilution of fantasy The calm of self imposed chaos Dreaming of down between your head and the stone A distance between the duel realities Disregarding possibility in order to retain a sense of community They all became just pleasant dilution’s Projected on a starry screen For the viewer to enjoy For the voyeur to expand An auditory adventure of orifice adventure As when my age reached eight And I dug the hole in the hill behind my house Just to bury adventure people in And loose them in the dark I miss that hill of dirt I don’t have any action figures any longer.

and then one day, a disaster came after all the swearing, after repeating it over and over through the years the love story ended with only one day remaining till Christmas. They had lasted for months, and that was with counseling. Their distance just grew upon it self but it had always been in fear fear of being called a quitter fear of loosing someone special fear of following a broken families path that fear held till now, and tomorrow it will hold again but from this day on, this marriage runs on a timer. Therefore my fears will have a date on which they may finally be put to rest.

A fat pen helps the time go by sometimes it’s fun to watch it race by with streaks of fire trailing past whether she has brown hair and blue eyes or blond hair and dark shades I just need to see Wonder what if and have the time to try and lose my self I would have never guessed that the hardest thing to lose would end up being my self To let consciousness flow out to write page upon page a hand is the ultimate page. I mean the ultimate tool drop them with the rest of the chaos. Is there a brown hared beauty in the house across the street, next door is she alone, longing for comfort? It is women who inspire the great accomplishments Their beauty, their demure, they are the star light on earth I am just bones held in a bag waiting to be cast a side. More like a pon or trash, something to be done without but employs a slight effort to approach. (it’s starting to flow) a glass of wine with beauty to view is a bliss many never enjoy. The lucky or determined have a wine seller and surround themselves with beauty. Just a page a day. Just a little commitment that’s all that is required. A shred of discipline.

You may if it troubles you so greatly. Summon your protector and call your army; only then will I decide to take leave of your bed. Your harbored youth and trust. Uncovering my lies you saw that I was in fact not God, I did not poses any special powers or envision any unfamiliarity. But it was good while it lasted, your head upon my shoulder, sappy love letters. It’s all true, do you believe me? It’s all true and I’ve lied to you. The writing, the poem on the wall, it is what I love. The grieving of loss and difference of two halves. Sharing the same cup, the same worthless luck that was handed down from mother and father. Though we rarely fellowed, we still doubled from the halves given to each who use to fellow and now recently halved again. It’s our tragedy that makes the stay a heavenly retreat for afternoon daydreaming and the wall to wall carpet. An expanse that takes matchbox cars and star wars figures decades to cross, creating a microcosm of a rat race with no true lies, aware only of the present and the goal it leads. Our halved fellows parted time and history fell mercilessly in. Oh joy for our independence we’re just paper dolls once discarded, wipe and a little ironing and their just like new.

When the walls fall down again all the saints in heaven will carry on the streets will keep on roll’n by and the fire beneath my sole wont ever die