maybe i’m mistaken but something needs to change

i sit at my desk
and my head feels like wool
the kind you find next to a sink
old bits of egg within
and its this woolen wit
that makes me want to quit
these passive past times
but it’s difficult to accomplish anything
searching for an ocean in a glass bowl
lacking a shoal or solid goal
but then gold fishes’ memories are short

that constant quivering

the helices in our eyes
meet and make
something more than before
an atom’s fate

to be constantly pushed and pulled
between positives
is a beautiful burden for
the world is causative

and in the end everything
breaks and remakes
so fall upon time’s shore
for we hold no stakes

this is the feeling i get

the landscape stretches
comfortably wrapping
itself around my eyesight
neither wrong nor right
it’s more than can be explained
with words or even heard
it is exhalation before breath
something to keep, a masterpiece
that art to hang
next to your heart.

maybe it’s too cynical

freedom of speech is dead
due to the infrared invasion
of our lives’ equation
all hail this wiretapped haven
and god bless america

(writing this made me nervous,
that’s how i know it’s true).

finding your own

with the feeling of fingertips
your mind trails down
mountainous routes
echoing shouts
you are alone
but maybe
this is home
where you break down your bones.

deadtired

inability
that halo of
inactivity
but here
let me just pull
one poem idly
from my eye.

the dying cough
of the creative
must still create.

emotive layers

you smile
(i smile
((my heart turns
(((my eyes burn
((((wondering how you feel
(((((i feel like steel
((((((my self-conscious is your unknown meal))))))
)))))))))))))))

the meaning of life

a mark
the start
all it takes
a giant wakes

the mark
does spark
that raging creation
this is elation

it can be different and the same

never ending drizzle
in absence of rain
it’s the undertone, overtone
of people suffering
(on the streets
and in their homes).

((this poem is shit
but aren’t we all sometimes.))

closeminded

it’s such a shame
when the mind
turns in
because
everything turns small
except the head
which swells
filling all the cracks
outside
with all your
little thoughts
turning
over and
over like
drowning fish
millions of minnows
silver funeral