The Voice

It falls when it runs off. 
Concentrate on the taste,
the spit that flies from the lungs,
the sting of the heat like when two words meet. 

I have visited before. 
Been a few cycles like I saw the stars last. 
The night held a perforate glow. 
Luminosity of the tulips came back invalid. 
It really stayed down there for a long time. 
What felt like it. 

The other day I thought I had time for this. 
This and that but it juggled out of my pockets,
the bill not yet matched. 
The cash in hand. 
The transaction was like a ballet. 
The dialogue fumbled into different sleeves. 
Where they inside out? 

A few things clicked. 
Each letter was a symbol and my brain started to hurt. 
Physical when you break it down in molecules really starts to fall apart when you really look at it.  Bit by bit,
eyes reading I's,
it's all just a cloud of smoke,
it's really just heat exhausted,
air already used. 
Breathe on it and wipe the smudges to reveal more. 
The screen holds 1 truth.

The Threshold

I kind of want to keep making appearances on this subject.

Things can be a bit hard.  Things that take a long time to complete.  It's something you chip away at taking what was and what you have albeit it reference more ideas influence and source material.  It's this stream this passing back and force this energy.  Energy is usually free time and when you are feeling guilty that you aren't allocating the right man hours.  The hours you wish you had back the pieces that didn't lead to anything or the impulses that fell flat or just didn't fit.  Didn't fit into an ear drum or onto my retinas.  All these files folding around you all the places they can o and become in here or over there but all to a strobe all in a bottomless boat.  Realize that this might be a pierce in the heart of culture.  Or the written rules in front of us.  The monotony of it all.  Can this break something or even cause a crack.  Where to put this in a place that doesn't support it.  Where's my award for humility?  When does it become apparent that I'm just trying and I'll always just try.  Nothing is true in a living so built up on ladders and long lines.  Where we wait is just a pile a traffic jam a denial even when the style of tile matches 100 miles an hour.  Leave it sit or hope he changes it into a real thing.  It's like I'm the spirit and he's the conjurer.  I make the yarn but he makes the clothes.