I stole the full view, unmentionable, from my science guise ruing Rascal scraps in the front yard birds flying startled.
The full view: oblivion…
The full view skirted to the side like a crotch piece, confidence game connected, pair of panties in the race to procreate, or at least in the quest of leaving tell-tale, interesting Rorschach designs on the waxy hard wood floor.
I saw the mobsters kick the voting machines with polished wing tips and pistol grip chump squad ramblings in forearm musical swing moods all along the wasted water front.
Not feeling magical at all, I walked around the streets wishing the inside of me was on the outside of me, wishing that sweet someone would finally notice me, turn the gold gilded, crystal doorknob and walk through my soul sleeping down into dreams; waking up to the delicate splendor of it all.
The full view: oblivious…
Chopped finely and abused, dead men tell no tales. Wise men ride rails or set sail in the search of time spent full view down weirdly wild trails. Seoul serves some sacred wisdom among the taxi collisions and capitalism schisms. The artful dodging of tax schemes all the while drinking my Eastern dreams makes you have to strain your eyes to view the ultra-bright lights during the total eclipse of the West.
Tricked and treated to a decade and a half tied to ancient tome morality mocking me half-distorted by my contorted man-self, I sat on the shelf looking for a way down, but always afraid to make the necessary faith leaps into living long love life like songs written half-maniacal by modern twirling, touring troubadours.
The full view: obscurity…
High time I left behind high times to let brain whisper beauty into my ears uninhibited, uninhabited by doubt and loathing 'self' for not really trying to love 'not self' with kind words instead of hurtful, heartache, anger, heaviness. Heavens clouded by nasty narcissism and petty profusions of grandeur condensed clumsily into the water droplets like hastily homemade dope bindles.
The bitter taste of defeat lingers, but oh sweet freedom, she left her smell on my fingers, and the scent gives me sustenance on the slow road to personal victory over the slow torture of my time in this unholy (insert swear-word...right about here--->) stasis.
The full view: autonomy…
30 AUG 10
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