Nothing is Worse Than an Amorphous Blob

When I reach the point
where all the days glob together
like a gelatinous bowl of half forgotten
moulding, peach flavored yogurt
or an amorphous waste of used
and left behind tissues
soiled by experience in the darkest corners
of the human psyche and physique
yellowed and aged like the
pages of a shitty John Grisham novel
read by pre-pubesent intellectuals
that smear the pages with masturbatory
excrement and overflowing hormone based emotions

Just kill me.

Fortune

This is the eye heaviness
that reaches down to the centre of the Earth
the weight of a four hour unsettled sleep
unburdened responsibilities
and the overachievers ache

This is me ever and yet (not even a little bit)
present.
The division between body and all these other
minute distractions
the effort required for me to lift a ten ton finger
beyond the grasp of my own understanding

I am thankful for the automaton-like
surgical precision
that is the back stage
behind-the-scenes
everyday work
of my body (oh, how I'd be lost without you)

Show, Tell

That fire engine red truck roaming wax
crayon
It never disappears, only gets whittled down
to a piece of something that once was a
crayon
but is no longer
and the fire truck red engine roaming wax
is just a trash worthy distraction
from a long discarded snapshot of this place know as