i wrote this in the last 20 minutes..fuck it if its no good

You might say to me, if you had word shapes that could fit in my word slots
That it is human nature to think more clearly when nearing death
And I might say we should think clearly at all times then
And my face would be red
Or my face would be pale
And yours would be its normal color
And this amongst other things would cause me to stop talking

You would scoff and return to watching t.v.
This is ok
You would be content


If we acknowledge that it is a rope
Our footing
And that it is low
Even so we must confess to a fear of falling
And strive to strengthen our ankles

Some would say that strong ankles wont change a thing
And I would smile at them because they were receiving my thoughts as words

We are waiting in this iridescent light for change
Never realizing that to some extent it is presently arriving
Due to the nature of iridescence

Clarity speak clarity to my neutral face and make its structure fluctuate.

You have constructed a notion of freedom that insists that we not insist upon it
This could effect movement in my lip region
But I am not home now
I am not home


Lets hide in the closet
Lets not hide
Rather lets live in the closet
We can create our own ecosystem and change science and be changed too.

But in our hiding we are feeling the sunburn that would necessarily accompany a voyage into out there.
This may or may not be a result of blushing and our capillaries taking in too much blood.


We are constructed yes.
And we are seeking at some points of our lives to be deconstructed.
But not before we construct a second self for the future which we will always fail to finish

Laugh now let us laugh.


It can be said that fate if we must name it such is following at a pace that we cant hope to maintain and so we fall.

You ran fast I was watching you in a pair of binoculars
But I had them backwards and so you looked as small as you were feeling
And then you fell off
To which side it matters not
You fell
And that is that.

I am yelling can you hear my volume change?
Are the words striking your face like crashing cymbals.

And through the flexibility of our language I am meaning nothing to you perhaps
Or something small
And that is a different outcome than I had planned originally.

It is objects that made this for us
It is our belief in objects
Shiny teardrop reflecting objects

Our steadfast grip is withering under truth storms

Truth is a word.

Lets walk in tall grass
We cant see the rope anyway so lets choose tall grass for the sake of having more fun
We can pick a piece apiece and chew on it for eternity
Until it is over.

It will end.
If it is kind.

We are very much the same
For one in our physical structures
But in our fear in the face of vision as well.

That we are seeing and fearing simultaneously and without an escape hatch
Is why you are still listening to me talk when I say things that bore you.

The nature of the word bore.

There is no turning back.