where to start

doesn't it feel strange
to only be the sum
of countless minute constructions
of vibration and frequency
catalyzed by electricity
arising from no place
where does love fit in here
if not in all this empty space



(This is what I do. All the time. It's the only thing that's ever felt right.)




hang it all, there is no way out of here
speak the same words and pretend to care
lies told long enough become sweet and true
could i stop thinking i think i'd make it through
this mess i've built on so many dreams
where nothing i expect is what it seems
and knowing i've only learned two things
to care is to suffer
&
good deeds are the most readily punished
it's all changed so much
hide behind your covers
listen to the flow of the Okkervil
let your heart bleed to another's
read all the books left out of the
Bible
keep on with half-truth and indecision
Pynchon doesn't nearly have the words
to explain my position
the more i try
to change my alignment
the more it diverts
surely this wide world
is not nearly wide enough
to hide my love or conceal my contempt




you were once mine, and that's my only lie
told to make sure I sleep at night
another attempt to keep out the waking light

I get lost in my own worlds
resting weakly
hinged on a single word
I'll never uncover

because I've seen what's good, and left it behind
so many times
all this a callow attempt, to bring myself out
of a chaotic mind
and return to see all of you
trudging along inside my head
without it you'd be dead
it's simple: existence makes no sense, never will
the answer's been right in front of me
since that freezing february
night when up went down
black into white
and could see the full measure of my demise
in three colors
this is for every pen that went dry
for every piece of trash that became treasure
when it accepted my words
you tell me to wear purple
but it's all blues to me



For you, I wrote out my heart, my brain, the pain
in my lungs, blackened with nicotine
burnt carbon and THC, plants from 3000 miles away
hacking up the unease of my stomach
nearing my throat
where the words stop, dissipating into every vein
my blood racing
that I won't drop dead
rushing to my face for that glimpse
for you, I wrote my heart out
sans lechery, the realest measure of what
falls out of my head
I asked if you read anything good lately
"No I haven't had the time."

what else can I say?
that my mind is a flaw, a mistake?
that I fear my love for the world will-

be less opaque



I'll come around full radius
and be no longer a note
bent sharply out of tune
even on the run, lungs pumping acid
I wait for you
all you had to do was ask him
because he who you see is not me
he is bound by indecision
and lethargy
he can't piece together cosmic coincidence
and follow pattern to its meaning
without conscience
he waits in the kitchen
our sun loses feeling
yet my eyes
still shrinking to pinholes
and I'm choking on the light
it's the same with you
as I slip down
over the side
out of this town