tangled glass

the world has sat, frozen, for centuries.

it does not think to make the right move, merely

moving in the direction it is going,

slowly forming into what is necessary

what belongs slowly sliding in place

natural, cozy, perfect

something tells me this world is hiding something

I don't know what it is, though I try and uncover

but what I relinquish

I always am indebted for

and what I control

is always unpredictable

so i sit and wait

and try and comprehend

hoping one day

i will uncover the mystery

a change is coming.

I can feel it, I know that i need it.

It is coming. I will make it so.

a new lace, new people,

new tragedies, eyes.

A change is coming.

it must.

It must come or I won't

parts two and three... maybe four?

holy cheese toast

break-in

and there's hair on the floor, and floor

on my feet

and there's a carpet somewhere,

where the places all meet

and there're chairs on the rug

cause it's there and they're near

and they talk in such words

in such ways you can't hear

and the doors all are open,

some broken right in

and the night men and ninjas

and dogs all come in

and they see the rug there,

with it's scrapes and it's lines

and they see all the chairs

their words soft, and combined

and they all change all their names

for the sake of the public

and they know not.to.be. noticed

IN the chairs or among them

so they paste back the doors,

and they quietly leave,

and the winter winds shift,

and the trees lose their leaves

gone the doors to the words of the tables and chairs

and the floors mumble too

under illusion, stares

and they way is then masked, and

it's clouded, with musk

as the leaves, and the sun,

dripping under with dusk

break- up

my head is pounding

in the middle of every song-

in the move of every pawn

i see your face...

i put your wrong

inside it's place...

its fucking over

and we both know it-

you dont show it,

you dont show the carefull

equality

of the earth

and the sky

and the wind

and the ground

and the music

inside your soul-

easily spent,

halftime's approaching,

your sun is encroaching,

it's surrounding us now,

the dark side of the universe is unveiled...

reading onto different letters,

mysteries of long hours

and cut hair

and bent suspicions

of people you will never meet again....

it's quickly over,

so quickly grown over,

i'm so over this

and nobody really gives a damn, anymore...

so bottle it up,

commercialize,

sell it to the masses

and market it as a

false advertisement,

and salt the winds

with every stone you throw....

water underneath the moon

moves itself towards equality,

towards adultery,

shut your mouth

and arrest him

for slander!!

for arson!

for blasphemy!

for going against the grain!

for commiting public intoxication!!

for buying plants!!

for growing gardens!!

for changing social standards!

for enticing the general publics attention!!

arrest him!

... When the moon is full,

everything is enlightened.

everything is brightened.

everything is changed....

and nothing will ever be the same.

every letter is pressed,

every soldier is kissed,

how many lives are lost

before we see the end? before we start again?

.... another lost line,

another open heart,

another heritage of inequity..

another night of howling,

jostling memories forever

back and forth,

a small line of essence

locked and lost forever

into the sequence of

time and space.

And who am I?!

and who are you?!

and why are we so different?

and how are we the same?

do we not all play this game?

this blank absence from one

thing to the next,

the next big test,

the next big thing around the bend?

is the grass always greener?

or do we just imagine what

could always be better?

maybe its the optimist in me,

maybe it's the freedom,

maybe it's the free

who are enslaved,

by their own negligence

of the imperfections

of the world;

maybe they're afraid to make it better,

girlfriend,

boyfriend,

letting you know this time it must be real...

so involved with ourselves,

not involved enough with each other...

try and succeed,

and in recent years

you'll find

an undermind

of unacknowledged

ideas

dripping away,

past and present,

future and

orgins,

sort it out...

and build your forts,

of leaves,

and sticks....

(and clay, and bricks,

and stones, and tricks...

and spells,

and slumped spines

stacked uselessly,

one upon the other,

in gypsy heaps

of heads and

lipsticks...)

(who are you looking for?

and have you found her?

and have you found your stars

inside someone else's eyes?

and have you had time,

to look for a ride?

because everyone is lost,

and we're all looking for a way home,

so throw your loans

away and

start looking

for the

truth.)

for whatever reason..

do

whatever

the

fuck

you

want.

a letter to my pen-pal!

so every blind is a world,

every world is a sea,

every screw is a nail,

every bird is a bee...

every letter is written,

every number escapes,

every wood is a toothpick,

every spot is a place....

every color is blue,

every day is a night,

every weapon is warm,

every muscle is tight...

every feeling is dead,

all the dead are alive,

and temptations are solid

when the shadows can drive...

and the earth is held up

by two axis of eyes

and it bleeds from our noses

and turns, as we try

and our songs and our rules

and our judgements and tastes-

welll the truth is the light, but the saying's a waste-

it all moves,

the sun flame

lights on life as ironic,

and the world as a game