March 25, 2014
roll out as liquified pigments
in enigmatic posts delivered
by fatal curiosity.
Read on till poignant madness develops
and fails to elude networked gray matter
from the everyday flow of the existential
gravity of things.
The nature of things.
Marks that form words and fire
whichever neurons want to be fired.
Ideas become segregated when
all Newtonian logic suggests otherwise.
Dark energy separates us,
yet there are no mystics here.
I’m a leech for floating matter
hidden in chatter,
what she feels is mine and
talks conclude when the lessons end.
Consider what I picked from your brain
bottled and added to a thousand
purifying thoughts nested
in my halls of decaying storage.
Thoughts collecting time dust,
remnants of scratched off skin cells
from minds that stood witness to it all
and had the courage to not invoke god,
just paper and pen.
I present to you in broken language
with the only tools I currently posses.
till poignant madness.