there is a certain sense of madness
tethered to this lucid form of
creation
exploration
and
disassociation

it’s this room i think
this room that’s littered with
a thousand memories
un-numbered
un-named
some written
so many forgotten

you have to train your mind you see,
there are just too many odds and ends
books and brass knuckles
bullets and baubles
flags and souls
captured within colored photographs
weapons and masks
coins and collectables
cluttered and creative
this space is elusive
just like the episodes
of my many distant lives
pause
a lonely microphone
reminds me of
glories and failures

distractions
hanging like thorns
on a diminished summer rose
where are all these dream sequences
leading me

many of you have visited this space
drawn in you have become part of it
though you don’t even know it

it’s a crypt
a resting place
for cats and dogs
and a place for me to
plan my escape

eternal grey blue
metaphoric breakthrough
this room is a place to contemplate
scars, and map recovery

seeking that holy composition
avoiding a prejudiced disposition
this room holds
the machine
that started it all
but
there is no safety here
only
dry burnt mornings
and disorientated evenings
waiting perilously
for something abnormal to arise