Happiness, a brand
Welcomed, if able.
As bass thumps through my cage
I stand in isolation
Surrounded by anti-happy
The unknown
Festering.
3 minutes until 8
The evening bellows in Irish tones
My own mandible, mute.
What comes with light from yonder morning...
Apples trapped in throats
Vibrating nearby
I'm never this close to men.
Close enough
To smell their sounds
And taste their movement.
Betwixt memories
And loving something owned
I am adrift.
Process
Carrying through the process
Of pushing.
Pushing past density-
Impossible
Pounding impossible to dust
With fists of mush
Indecent analogies
Plucked from omniscience
No shortage of perfected sickness
Burdens will be beaten,
Interiors will suffer
Giving all to degenerate diseased falsehoods
The one last defense, against
Insanity.
Scrambled Soul
So loved and cherished,
Do your best to defer to sweetness
In every ounce of your tired flesh
Ease into the care you're lavished
As partners rot
The sane compose their weary reserves
Gently moving forward...
Acceptance of living hells
Thriving.
Lumber dragged
To burn in a pyre
Fit to be seen,
From Outer Space.
Ghosts from nowhere
Crisscrossing
Fucking with limbo.
The days rolled
Into- Life
Time for a poultice
Of action born of need
To rouse and incentivise
The minutes as they crawl.
Essentials... negotiate
Trust in these hours
Spent meeting past gains?
Preparing for- late glimmer?
Rubbish.
Brand muscles with more
More relevance
More meaning
More diplomacy toward self
The outward effort has been necessary
But a calling gains momentum.
The smell of an Order
Designed to articulate
Best lives lived
Through well-articulated whim
And intelligent fancy.
