the waking dream

point to point and used by each other
i’ve walked beside and beyond
the paths of indifference where
bachelors and badasses dwell
i’ve hung myself out to dry in the rain
and every day i paint this screen
with letters, phrases
that tell no particular story
i seek mediation and meditation
but procrastination and stagnation
consistently hinder my rehabilitation
driving down the road at 2 am with
the headlights of a predator lurking behind
i want to return home
but what is home?
home is an evolving myth and
even the strongest people break
life is death in life’s disguise
keep going you’re almost there
but that’s a lie
this never ends

anti-ambition and stuck on repeat as
single superstars push
lawnmowers on a friday night
and the cats are watching me
through broken windows, waiting
i have this fear of leaving the house
so, under cloudy skies
and ruffled blankets i form
mind maps with forgotten passwords
is this writers block or just a logical fallacy?
i can’t decide
lord gimme one last jihad!
in desperation i bend in submission
to the flood of words and images
possessing my fingertips
racing to give birth
to the beast inside my head
and now
short of breath
writing this
has robbed me of all direction
and even now this creation
seems somehow old

through foggy eyes i beheld
frank zappa and napolean
seated at an unfinished table
cross legged and having tea
under an overcast sky
the sound of laughter and screams,
rulers and visionaries with
conquests and dreams
half remembered i caught a glimpse
of my very own christ child
a psychic baby with an oversized brain
we are all anonymous now and
each decade has it’s high point
but the poor are robbing the poor
socialism is the battle cry
and the children are
protesting with without reason
leaders, lenders, and lawyers,
render this treason
with fads, trends, buzzwords and slogans
meant to lure the consuming masses
conjuring theft, slavery, and division
these and those lives matter?
fuck you! all lives matter!

traveling from the center of
a bipolar roller coaster
vacant possession
the music has stopped, and
lying here naked
unseen energies mingle and mix
like machine code in the matrix
i am shedding skin and
waiting to be reborn
living in this moment
i rest my head in hands
not my own but her’s
the mother of all creation
in the circle of destruction
kept secret and safe
i understand that
my mother gave me idealism
meant to chase dreams
and my father gave me realism
the will to survive
it’s time now
to walk through this waking world
with the well timed war cries
of a conscious and whispering wanderer

 

 

 

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