ritual process
stale and subdued
in the flaky morning hue

is there balance?
not often
but a bit of
gentle consistency
is good every now and then

with so much addiction,
submission, and sudden transmission
life can seem like a familiar disgrace
as we deputize excuses for every impulse
and sleep walk through
repetitive patterns of superstition
seeking ghosts in the form of
new friends, a playful competition
it’s a constant game of
conquest or cacogenesis
self dominated in the guise of
sex or sainthood

where are all the
black magic artists
and white magic whores?
waltzing through a wailing mile
watching dinosaurs in drugstores
endless wars, half hearted encores
and ridiculous metaphors
as we search for action
the familiar feeling of something old
or the anticipation of something new
a blank check
for spiritual revenue

this play has been performed
a hundred times before
and though the actors are different
the plot remains the same
and we are left
with no one else to blame

somewhere in the distance
a cigarette burns
and we are
disinherited like morning mildew
as sleep deprivation is mounted
with dark coffee dreams
and empty glass regimes
we embrace confusion,
stuttering concentration,
and mild calamity
searching for a small measure of clarity

stop
a moment to think
before the computer screen spells
slow decay

binary encyclopedia
and everything is media
as the senses collate too much
(mis)information
mixed with tepid insanities
that lead to an overload
of anxious procrastination

everybody’s gotta love something though
sunrises over grey clouds
cats yawning and clawing for attention
sounds and scents of childhood
the first sip of wine after a long day
the flash of a smile from a pretty girl
or an easy morning poem

it’s the little moments,
so often unnoticed,
that’ll get you through
hold them like a lost lover
with coded compassion
forever to renew