showroom of compassion

Empires are risen and destroyed within our sonar shores.  Everyone has a place but I can't seem to find mine.  I see the dark turn of time, and it breaks my inner signals up. It's getting cold landlocked and frozen in past desolations throes.  less temporary than the styrofoam cups, broken down cars and pick-up trucks.  With whiskey and boredom peace can be found in sprawling lines of anonymous ideas written on pages with simple complexity. Develop the self in rage against the system that betrays me, us.  Word is no bond anymore, papers and copies are what spurs the system forward, absent and untrusting as we slip by in the corridors.  Be good, be kind, be interesting.  I've got a soft spot for anything.


I have no eyes beating at the door.

Some want it all.  Some want it more. 
I have no ears, screaming what seem to be words
The American Dream so discouraging.  It hurts.
I have no heart beating rhythmic misconception
I use instinctual perception when searching through the voids.
Incarnation of the soul bewildering scientific mind.
You can clap your hands and stomp your feet to the
charging electrical el train beat, down system,
down the roads to LCD youths in tight clothes
fighting the current inside, while going along for the ride
through corrosion of life in blistering sun
beat down, I feel it, you feel it too
I look into the mirror for hope, every time I stare into my own eyes
I have this intense feeling of knowing exactly what and who I am
i don't think it's quite self realization, as being aware and
contemplating your position as a biological self replicating organism
that beats you down the most.
We are the exhausted generation, upon arrival
we absorb ourselves in replication, mass representation
a mediocre modern exile from Eden.
Some words have weight and power, minds are strong
but being what we are, we cannot comprehend the answer.

beggars delight

    We pass through stores, and wait in lines.  We cycle our tickets, and walk through the turn-style.  Fragments of paper and trash litter the ground as some memory of life and time.  I’m in the world, a part of the world. 
    The tiny strips of DNA trace back to survival.  We are surviving, and doing so much more.  I walk by the guy on the bridge posted on his milk crate.  He laughs at the tourist walking by as they avoid eye contact and shuffle to the furthest side.  “Scared” he says with a smile and shakes his cup a little louder. 
    Fear, I think to myself, is something few people truly know.  Those brushes with the darkness that change our perception forever in the new world are seldom seen.  I feel connected as the street poet tells me about sleeping on the train and how brushing your teeth every couple days is just as good as three times a day.  I feel a connection because at a point I was embracing that feeling on top of a Humvee on the side of a mountain staring at the stars past the brim of a helmet.  At least I knew I would eat.
    It takes a special kind of person to live between the lines of society, a halfway person melting reality, and some foreign dream.  Surviving sleeping above the warm air of the subway grate.  Shaking the cup with the tiny metal discs that mean nothing, or everything.  They deal with being ignored, brushed off, and feeling angry.  From the “heroes” of a nation to the outsiders living on the banks, it’s really all the same.


Business Kid and The Disco Dogs

                               10     Fists To The Earth

   The rhythm of the fire moved to the music coming out of the solar powered FM radio. The beach was nice and the night had a cool darkness.  Smooth like black velvet and looking into it you got to where you felt like you were being swallowed into the ocean.  Peering into the sadness that the depths held for you, except it didn't feel bad, it was an adventure.  That night it felt like a whale had moved into the darkness and some kind of static energy floated off of everything.  We passed cheap wiskey to eachother drawing circles in the sand.  I think I was just trying to float.  Float on with the wavy breaks and hot currents of lifes deeps.  I saw the numbers in your head clearer than you did. It was no trick we both knew.  I lifted the rocks into the air, it was scary.  I was afraid.  But I was amazed, and excited to the point of hyperventilation.  All the stories of people who could do it ended terribly.  For a long time it was our secret.  I wish I could say it still is, but obviously I wouldn't be here writing this now if that was the case.
_____The head person, whom I should not name, has given me this pencil and pad of paper, one envelope and one stamp.  I fear though that this will never reach you. I have been imprisoned the past four years by people whom specialize in abnormalities such as mine.  These people are dangerous and I assume know who you are fully, so please do not attempt to find me, I fear that ill wll may befall you if you do brother. 


Bitter Rich Fool

                                       Part 3.5

                             ****   9   ******  lucky me again

___Brent woke up to a scream in the night.  A howl of some creature disturbed and flitters of burning light outside danced in the windowpane as Brent's dreary mind sprung alive lazily.
"I'll kill everyone of you sons of bitches! Get the law called on me, I'll burn your carcasses and leave the bones for strays!"
 ___ This burst obviously came from Mr. Stevens.  Jill even caught a bit of the rant as she stirred in bed.  Brent went to the window and there was Mr. Stevens in his house coat and boots drinking whiskey from the bottle while holding a burning Maltav cocktail.  Brent could hear the raccoons scatter from the garbage in the back of the house.  Mr. Stevens took a stumbling run and threw the cocktail into a group of retreating animals.  They scurried quickly away and it didn't seem that any were injured.  Brent watched the old man as he collapsed and knelt down on the ground watching the fire burn up scortching the lively lawn and dying out in the cool night.  Brent felt like he understood the man a little more in seeing his sad nature quietly.
____We all die.  It doesn't matter if your worth a million dollars, have a thousand kids, invent the most amazing thing ever, you are expendable. 
____Mr. Stevens stared blankly into the advertising box in his living room.  He rolled around thoughts inspecting loopholes and options. He did this process frequently with no avail.  He eventually forgot what he was doing in the first place.  This kept him sharp, but his information was all mixed up.  He couldn't differentiate reality from fiction.  He didn't know the difference between the truth and fiction, most of which he had made up without  recalling his true meaning.  This left him uneasy and often afraid of everything outside of himself and outside of his control, because with all this time checking facts and separating created meaning from true meaning had robbed him of most organizational ability.  He drove himself mad when deciding on dinner for the evening.  The proper placement of silverware and a thousand thoughts on ettiquite, dining, and entertainment filled his head, beckoning him to make everything perfect.  In reality he was surrounded in a mess.  Yes it was often tidy, but no place of comfort.  He often sat in his room enjoying a book, because the insanity would die down behind the words.  He would often not even absorb what he had read, but just sit there calmly running his eyes over the words and mouthing or humming a slight tune as he did so to balance with the piercing silence of his lonely dark hollow.
___look out

Everyone wants love, yet no one grows flowers

stuck in swirling circiuts of sadness
retelling and retolling the lacking nature
of the beast, am the beast
and legends die

I'm standing lakeside
waiting for the high tide
so I can cast my bottle
and say goodby

anxiety is mistaken for
claustrophobic inside
agoraphobic out
wild wild world so boring day to day today

maybe we will meet today
maybe we did yesterday
or the other week or year
but it's all drowned
and no one has any real fear

I'm not going to settle
or settle down
settle around good things
build something from nothing

not going to draw
or draw from experience
not going to throw violence
anger in bundled fists

not going to carve
or carve myself from some
stone that I've become
I let the wind and water do their job

I'm not going to gaze
hypnotized in stasis
playing DVR for familiar faces
hibernating mind going faster than I would like

body dying from health and hindsight
creaking joints and dislocated spine
flat floor calling
white tiles and the faucet running
i look in the mirror
and ask where is my mind


Hollywood and Washington Stole Your Soul

 Part 3 of Many

Archaic and without substance my thoughts tremble and flutter.  Senses and perceptions becoming strained from overuse is often recurring.  The ground it shakes and breaks away senselessly. Violent cancers storm forth in the bodies of the overworked.  Eyes, oh god, tired eyes rolling and seeing all the same things.

???8???? Out of Gas
____It came to him one day when he was buttering his toast.  That he should do something about the weeds in the front yard.  Something had to be done and that was it.  The riding lawnmower had broken down and was parked semi-permanently sixteen feet from the side of the house.  The weeds now grew over the lawnmower much to the dismay of his neighbor Brent.  Brent's wife had told him it was ridiculous and he really should contact the authorities.  Brent thought to be more reasonable, and despite his wife's pleas wrote a letter for Mr. Walter Stevens, the tenant of the tidy cottage house.  They had shared a beer in the summer, when Mr. Stevens was more jovial.  Since then the relationship had grown more tense and bizarre due to a few nights Mr. Stevens had ran past their dining room window as they were enjoying  dinner.  Now this normally tolerable offense was amplified by the fact that Mr. Stevens was wearing an adult diaper, and only an adult diaper.  To Brent and his wife this seemed like dementia, an old man in his late years losing control.  It was when Mr. Stevens stopped and looked at them from the patio doors very close to where they were seated that it became an offensive act.  Brent started to get up as Mr. Stevens screamed like an infant, spraying spit onto the clean glass.  His hand then reached into the back of the diaper and the old man threw at lump of his own slimy excrement at the window, Brent and his wife both flinched with faces turned in disgust, Mr. Stevens laughed hysterically.  He threw his hands into the air and ran back home.
   ____ Since then Brent and Jill Anderson had spoken with Mr. Stevens brother Mortimer his only surviving relative.  Mortimer was 73 and still a quite bright man.  Brent was watering his lawn when Mortimer arrived in his luxury sedan and began climbing the steps.  Brent waved him over and told him of Mr. Stevens recent turn in behavior.  Mortimer was dumbfounded.  He had visited his brother regularly and had not noticed anything perculiar, and even claimed he did not know his brother to ever wear an adult diaper.  Brent scratched his head in disbelief, Mortimer gave his number and said to call the next time something happened.  Since then Mr. Stevens became a recluse shutting up his windows and throwing trash bags out his back door.  The local cats and raccoons had found a feasting ground.  The Andersons could hear the animals fighting in gluttonous rage every night.  Brent had to start locking their own trash cans after a few nights of being toppled over by what could only be a mutant raccoon the size of a Geo Metro.
____This time Brent called the local authorities to complain about this problem.  An hour later an officer arrived and spoke with Mr. Stevens through a screen door.  Mr. Stevens seemed to be polite.  The officer seemed satisfied as he walked away.  Brent and Jill were pulling the blinds open to see from a window when Mr. Stevens stared directly at them and gave a smirk as he shut the door.
____Country music was playing outside the gas station where Mr. Stevens was standing and filling a gas can next to his car.  He through it in the trunk next to a large bundle of dish rags.  He drove home nearly missing hitting a freakishly large raccoon on the way. 

more to come...


Filter The Breath You Expel, Diverge In Altruism

=====5===== Next To Nothing

It will all even out he thought as he rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants.  He was inside the station looking through aisles avoiding eye contact with the stocky droog at the checkout window.  The colors and the lights were making his head hurt, he quickly looked out to make sure the car was in the same place he had left it moments ago.  He grabbed a bag of gummy worms and a large energy drink, opening and consuming them at the counter.  The attendant looked at him with twinges of disgust and said
"That all for ya partner." blandly. 
"Yeah that's it." the man replied with a choking slurping speech. 
Life is made up of these awkward encounters.
He reached for the door as a strange electrical feeling rose from his feet to his spine.   fear, instinctual, habitual.  Everything was quiet after his foot squeaked in it's place.  He looked down into his drink, and red on the label "caffine-free".  He turned to look at the attendant
The beast stood there in the ripped flesh of the attendant.  The entire window was splattered with blood.  The skeletal remains twitched and  bounced blue in the dimmed light.  The man stared into the darkness underneath the flesh, and saw a glimmer of a black  eye.  He saw teeth and twitching body parts, nerve endings flipping around with stripped muscle tissue.  As the man pulled the door open the thing started scraping at the glass with a mix of broken finger bone and what could only be a claw.  Out the door he could hear a shriek.  He looked back to see the mashed attendants head poking through a spider webbed opening in the bulletproof glass.
   He ran.   it wasn't the first time he had to.

$$$$$$6$$$$$$ You Bought And Sold Your Love.

Sadly enough nothing is ever enough.  Looking through the library for a few books to read.  Read them on the train.  Get home and don't help but think that it's oddly disabling.  It's critically sedating.  Rub eyes, rub face, be alive.  Maybe shave.  Likely to misbehave without haste. 


Bourgeois Life Under The Invisible Claw

Things get very dramatic. ____1____

He gets hot in the sun like a lizard.  On the lawn of some rolling meadow, he has droopy socks and sunglasses on.  He is thinking about unlocking the secrets of the world.  Breaking down life to the smallest form, and relating it completely to that of the universe at large.  He looks up to a blazing sun seeing tiny swirls of life floating through the air.  He breathes in and hears a birds chirp in the distance.  The numbers are there and he will change the way we perceive reality.  A whir comes up behind him and as atoms burst in his mind, a frisbee smashes into his temple. 

He died. 

Very A-typical shit._____2________

The grapes of wrath grow on the vines of the powerful, using the Earth of man.   They don't control the sun, so for now they still have a god they haven't conquered.  If fiction, in ways, still dictates life, then everyone is always somewhat right.

You Send Me Darling   >>>--<3-->

The moon came out.  We didn't expect it to so early.  I always think of Dune when I see it and I'm not even sure if that is relevant.  We smashed a lot of bugs on dirty windshields from the road and from the cold.  I think you wore mittens.  I think I was someone different.  I feel like I'm someone different.  I have grown, but in many ways I'm still the same.  I've learned that there is hardly ever perfect, there is only bad and in between.  passion, burning kindling.  Too many down turned eye brows, too many faces filled with frowns.  I will no longer be the sad clown, sappy sucker, god damn. 

++++++++++++4+++++++++++++Maybe This Will Make Sense, Rose

I pictured this as being the malleable state that I could do what I wanted t.........

the lord of obstacles
disintegrates reality
a vicious adversary beast

speak bitterly of darkness
when you have not witnessed light
the state and shape of the ways
words aren't worth ancient waste

...t wasn't quite what I meant.

to be continued...


If i were born an animal I would probably be dead.  I hope when I die I can read this.
I hope that the darkness doesn't erase.


middle man

The shadows moved like sunflower daydreams across the dull red woven carpet. I could hear a cricket chirping somewhere behind my sweaty back. It's tweets were off beat reminders of existence. This "living" room is not very well named. I don't do much of that here. I swat flies with windows open in the summertime. My dirty bathrobe and hospital slippers are grimy and worn from repeated sittings. I've started to drool. That never happened when I was young. When I still worked at the factory bending metal and driving men to quotas. I, I look at myself and think "what can I do, I'm getting old it's what happens, nature, that bitch, she drags us all down and you knew it would happen you son of a bitch! what can I do now!" Then I collapse into gas filled cushions and bury myself in a pixelated tomb while gorging on mounds of fabricated sustenance that fuel my endless desperation. What have we become.
I don't want to drink. I failed at drinking when my liver did not fail me. Oh, but I feel it's anguish deep inside. A throbbing hurt from abuse and neglect, the worst kind. I had felt my mind fading a long time ago. When I washed it further away with endless cycles of entertainment and living without being whole. I kept my optimism for so long. I kept my head up and my heart open, but the bitter dusts of dissatisfaction wore down on what can only be my soul. No tragic events, a life fruitless may be tragic itself although easy to control.
callouses and cars. Yard space and scars. distance without resistance. utter downfall.

I have eyes to see the complexities of the world and barely the mind to understand. nmbrs nd lttrs hve s mch spc btwn lrnng nd knwng nd jst bng. I have a tugging at the back of my neck from holding up a heavy head. Sleep, sweet sleep. Drown me and take me to the next step. The sun lightens the sky, shadows fade and die.


it's so simple to roll into a lull
a lower than low in the show
that I call self control


auburning me alive

stomachs in our ears
deriving separation
our worlds are worlds apart
honesty policy falls short
you can strew it
you can shout
all the eyes are slowly falling out

on my paper in truth through the meaning
in little bits of me and mind and mine
o my god please please please
the shake downs out on the nod

right my mind like no other kind
the stray way we fumble without light
these arms might hold us up for a night
well done somewhere else,
{ somewhere dying eyes still shine bright }

my buddy's in the foxho-o-0le
he got shot in the hey-e-ed
the medic say's he's wounde-e-ed
but I know that he's de-e-ead

you've still got rhythm
you've still got blues
out of answers worth wild without proof
it's one a.m. if the alarm clock is true
whiskey wisdom coming through

can't you see, a fire in me
Thermite and fury
how many more cities can be buried
nights of losing lives
meanwhile galaxy constantly moving
we will soon be fossilized

Lone life long lost in bitter sweet chaos
the frost drops and slips down to bottoms top

the guides lost his sense of the ropes
you stutter and stare, blank into the air
shaking hands and shaking head
narcissistic necessity fit to fix
bold bronzed and made to start shit
nothing is fine, you need what You want
fostered in failed mindset speculations of reality

ground down ground zero no heroes can ever be
speculated as spot on soldiering so full of selfless service sickened silently



As I read Vonnegut's tales I realize that I lost most of my humanity. I am thinking very intently about my relationship to the world and it's getting sadder as I grow older. I know 26 is still young, there is plenty of time...
So at a young age by societies definition, i witnessed and experienced some less than normal situations involving people and cultures in conflict. I've seen emptiness and beauty in mankind. I don't know what I can say to fully explain my present nature in definitive terms. Following along that path I can not explain most of nature in any definitive terms. but i can say-
there was a sun and a moon and we were just spinnin' round
satisfaction at every angle, high of heights and lowest of grounds
and i don't know
if i have a soul
this mind of mine sure beats me down
hold the elevator door
and i don't know
should I say within the eyes of the enemies that I plead for more
got me in debt to the mindset that bleeds me dry
from wounds that are still sore


When I was a kid I loved to go outside. I loved to walk with my mom anywhere in the sun. Climbing trees and digging up anything interesting. The world was cool and full of amazing things, at least wherever the confines of dependency allowed us to be.
pass it to the left hand side. going counter clockwise. Like a clock turning back time. Three steps and turn behind another child of mankind. I carry my weight. I carry it in plastic bags tied wrought around my waist. I turn every three steps and keep my pace. I've traveled all around but every time I walk I turn around. Around and around the spacious places under foot, underneath, unknowingly.
Blind side and I don't sound right. High and dry I don't feel right. I've fallen so far and now the clouds are empty bars retaining invisibly. I'm frightened for me. in stereo and on tv. bland dinner my palette doesn't taste like it should, wish I were good enough, or something that someone might love. I'm powerless against antics and secretly drink from a cup overfilled and it's spilled making me plain, insane, gone over the edge once again.
I blither and blabber as the mud splatters on me, and trees look like burning fiends tired and swaying in the breeze, dissolving me, and I see that you've made it home again. It's all over again, this shadow that won't repent and I resent all the things that you said. Party on Wayne, party on Garth, on toward the new sights the new sounds and forget your cough, the coffee is cold and it's time to move on to something I like, something I dream, and don't you forget, we've all been absolved we don't have to pay rent
and the company calls us again. The phone is wet from streamin, it's no surprise, it's my demise, it would be wise to just hang up my hat. And say goodnight.


was what you said just not enough
was it all red in the middle of love
do you need some time or someone new
ready for nothing, nothing new
god is impossible
impossible to please
please please me
wait wait don't tell me you've been waiting
in straight lace pleasantly
peacefully shine deep
dissect the shit out of me
till that black lung can no longer breathe
you can't kill the heart, my heart
even though it's on my sleeve
even through bitter warning
thoughts, and eyes wander over me
steadily growing patient without apathy
slow liquor pour downed four
steady as I roll and lose control over
you your mind me
self prescribing
loss of dignity
escape of my esteem
the blackness of my dreams
the doctor I haven't seen
the pain in my kidneys
the tired glaze of eyes dazed
fastened to laptop screen
spreading words like sacred code
into flowing streams

all of your love
life is forever
words you said and didn't write or vice versa
words written so well but lacking vocal devotion
thoughts trickling down and too shy to spout them
to weak to fight your hand
to hold it on to mine
fear, fear is a cold black creature
that spouts from the face of death itself
as it strengthens my god the change
in brain waves
in processing and computing
in putting it together and getting your shit together
why bother getting old when you can get crazy god dammit
why bother filling the holes that were left from being cradled. Expectation. Relentless. It figures. The math doesn't work because I don't fucking work. The cards are all shit and for me they always have been, fuck, fuck, fuck. the house and the shadows, the slips and slides, I am built from scraps of life that we have in this parade of shit. al;;;;;;;;jks f;ajsdfiwepoirquweopiaefujdsl;jkfhgawsjkgdflzj fhdskjah;akhgakldsjffhsldksjsoiieuuthfdjsal;a;apqlwnvxmvn,zsoojwoayfnglsjdssmcjsnflajgeja;ljsjflsjfjfsfljsfljs

the feeling is still there
the madness is still there
i am still there
the smell is still there
the brief moment is still there
shit luck shit for brains dumb shitty shit

i will


Stars and Stripes


this is an article with a portion of an interview with me about poetry and healing PTSD. It was a great conversation and there is even an excerpt of my work in the article as well. Thanks to all the folks at Stars and Stripes, David Allen the articles author and fellow Vet Poet, Lisa, Jessa, and everyone in the Vet Art Project for putting together platforms, which make this knowledge and methodology available to any and all.

Check out David's blog at www.davidallen.nu
and his e-zine at www.eatwritecafe.com


basking in the glow of a million exploding grenades

oh my eyes
through dusty splinters
searching the ground for losses
torn scraps of metal, holes in the walls
ceilings caving in, ears ringing
hesco hotels and radio calls
shoulder launched disappears in the sparks
green light white light go
lined up in sight no where to go
cradled in ammunition
weakened but still strong
violent hellfire rage rips the atmosphere open
eyes adjust
itching trigger fingers til dawn
sights lined and set to call
no telephone, no satellite, no alcohol
tango oscar november india golf hotel tango
whiskey alpha sierra
delta echo alpha tango hotel

without which would i be better
without which would i survive
i was outside within
lost in a lasting transition


on and off a wagon without wheels

people live
to get out of the darkness

some look into it
with glowing eyes
bombarded by the desperation
that comes out in sodium filled sweat

Delirium Tremens
testing mortality
the cold turkey freeze
bitter liquidity

it matters not where I lay my head, but where my conscience lies. in gulleys, galleys, ravines, in mechanical dreams, in political seams, it seems like we are distancing our selves from each other and everyone needs different things, it makes a difference to me whether we know and see or we make hearts bleed when in need. make it stop. make it stop please.

liquor stain tongue smoke ring rolls
awkward hands shaking in the cold
heavy heart still fresh in the folds
filling emptying living tissue
bitten and waiting to bite some
not enough, have to be something
have to be worth realizing

shame, old dog
dirty bomb drops
silence in moving scenes
where trees sidewalks and soda machines
melt together in light radiating
where loss is lossy and negating
Where I am nothing
in a confusing consumer dream
where acting is real reality

I can't count the beats in your chest. I can't fight that beat in mine. Life is but a series of fights, of lonely battles on waterfronts unseen. We watch as those who run forward changing the matter they are running from, toward, with , away from as they go. Trails of papers, and videos slide in that line as they move. We watch and look behind us and see a smaller, dimmer trail. Those who are burning bright rise as they go and escape those bullets of pain that fire down from mountain tops impossibly out of reach. I often feel as if I am crawling on that sandy beach. Spitting the taste of salt and seaweed from the side of my mouth and disappearing into the cover of being an outsider. From this view I can see the world and everything from underneath. Things you wouldn't understand if you only do what you see, if you only read what you need, if you are too scared to bleed.

If you have any I will eat your sin
transferred from you to me
I'm going down anyway
if there is atonement it's latency
diminishes with me

Well god damn here we go again,
sorry sad sucker feeling low again
everybody put on some new damn shoes
everybody put out all that your used to
barreling down barrels of oil in our machines
into our plastics, smokestacks and everything
choking carbon floral chlorides destroying me
destroying the children in arms

fuck these days where i sit alone watching tv. I get nothing, no inspiration, no happiness I feel cold and unamused. All I can do is write. It's a supplement during, before, and between drinks. And as I sip more my memory leaks, words become tweaked repeats of all the things I've said before. I have nothing new to say today and hardly ever come up with anything nearly as interesting as I did on something. I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i ii i i i i ii i i ii i ii i ii i i i i ii i i ii i i i ii i i i ii i i i i i i ii i i i ii i i i i ii i i ii i i i i ii i i i i ii i i ii i i i ii i ii i ii i i i ii i ii iii i ii i ii i ii i i ii i ii i ii ii i i i ii i ii i ii ii i ii i ii i i
who am


Avante Garde Duty Free

my dreams are sunken in obstruction
lacking satisfaction confounded by abstraction
this distraction lackens my senses
penetrates my defenses
devastating smoke screens
of living breathing beings

I love the blur,
the motions,
shadows casting slipping by
how our words and symbols
slyly collide in our lives and minds
disappearing reappearing everything
winding tight wrought ropes of eternity
flickering lights and energy releases in space
till blackness dissolves any trace

I held my breath all night. I drank between grinning teeth, ate, and sang some I think. I strung strange instruments and played to everyone's disbelief. I've been reading about mythology and the human psyche. Are we all Odysseus the champion of gods and men. Are we noble rogues in eternal struggle with nature's paved ways. Am I living in the scientific realm to hide myself from Ra and Zeus? Is my mana holding traces of ancient remains?

all it is is anything

curves and straight lines flow through the reflections in my eyes
cones and rods capture and analyze
I see said the blind man,
but I don't even try