BLue Artichokes

Uncertainty lingers

Like a moth eaten rug that sits precariously on a cold stone floor

Surrounded by the uncanny

assumption that

Life is

Nothing more than everything you wished it wouldn’t be

I am undermined by that thought

Somehow I feel as if my fate could be predetermined

If I had been blessed  with the foresight to realize

That not all prescriptions come equipped with the proper

Ingredients

Leaving me alone

To stare at the cold ceiling and

 wonder

what shade of grey the sky above

actually is

paper windows

Some say it was resurrected

on a cold summers day

others say it was found

on a field of thorns in a bed of roses

...

discombobulated drums speak foreign tongues

to an untrained ear

but a mastery of artificial understanding

leads us to the conclusion

that the purple clad 

are 

quite possibly

the purest

among us

...

A hand full of dirt 

and a face full of sweat

shoveling broken images into

a 

pool of

understatements

one billion and three

 Eye, facing 7 seven intel

watch brain become eggshell

until eye 

cant watch

 no more

Eye, aint really functioning

eggshell breaks all too easy

contradictions keep

defining

 me

Chesterfield

Sometimes we get lost in words

Magenta

Too

Fucking

Busy

To

Fucking

Think

I have three pairs of red shoes

And nothing else to live for

I have six raindrops In my water bottle

And aloe vera juice on the marble floor

I have checkerboards made of nylon

And a paper bag full of cinnabuns

Busy

Fucking

To

Think

Too

I

Am

Words that I dare not

Say

I

Am

Staring at this computer screen

When I should be staring at my eyelids

I

Am

Wasting every second in a lollipop gum drop haze

Trying to justify my lost integrity by remaining

Too

Busy

To

Fucking

Think

I

Once

Thought I was facing opportunity

While giving peace a chance

I

Once

Ate a spinach and mushroom burrito

Next to a short Spanish girl

Who drove through that small town

Like a turtle on the interstate

I

Once

Hit my head

On my best friends ceiling fan

Every.

Single ..

Day…

Too

Thinking

To

Fuck

Busy

I listen to stories out of speakers

While sucking dust into oblivion

I try each and every soap

When in

someone

elses

shower

I eat less, I work hard

But

 I’m too tired

to

write about it

Fuck

Thinking

To

Busy

Too

Fucking

Think

breath

She’s got the whole world in the palm of her hands

Mercury's moon

Beauty

Is

A

Word

As well as a point of view

 ...

After alleviating and excavating the ruins

I found

7 orange bottle caps

arranged on a porcelain mattress

by a seemingly untainted hand

clutching heart shaped soda cans on a single grain of time’s sand

 ...

bewildered by the spontaneous perfection

I grasped my withdrawn confidence… looked directly to my minds eye and told her of my plans

 ...

Beauty

Is

A

Word

As well as a point a view

 ...

After unearthing the morals

I crosschecked my references… placed two cracked fingers on my heart

And

Looked myself directly in my broken conscience

While muttering the words,

“all good is green”

“all green is good”

“life can be unknown”

“but never knowing the known”

“is where it all goes wrong”

 ...

Beauty

Is

A

Word

As well as a point of view

 ...

A frozen riverbed

Consisting of nothing more than rusty nails and oil cans

... 

A solitary figure

On a raft made of fortunes,

Stands taller than the sunshine,

Wears rags made of riches,

And

 Drifts away from memory

Into the fog filled future

 ...

Beauty

Is

A

Word

…

As well as a point of view