The Invisible P Word


overlooking the thoughts of the living
desire has overcome all apathy
it is me talking to you
the many songs we must learn for just one to call everyone
these faint vocal questions trying to be heard
and intolerable mistakes in the law
doubtless decisions away from the city and resting bodies
avoiding check points and annual tariffs
I send nothing; I receive nothing
on course for someone with initiative - more waiting -
34000 MB per second and only time between us
raise the volume, burn an album -
voices telling me which finger to move over which switch
intuition can be tedious
helping with longevity and getting to those up-close points
where the wave meets equilibrium
how many times will a question be the seemingly right thing to ask?
time to check on the wave
back to the beginning
i hear sharp clicks in the sound and dramatic volume sweeps
now a blanket attempt to cover it all and back it off by one tiny fraction of a cent 
so much has been lost; pushed in both directions
cursorily skimming the details
waving a proverbial magic finger over the whole glowing surface
perhaps for a stranger’s inspired night -
a subconsciousness to be inferred
it all works now - and is released as product -
a reflection into technology and all the little twigs that surround us

\

a couple leaves for Detroit at the same time
a train carrying 20,000 tons departs from L.A.
they meet up in Nebraska and the two people go separate ways
for ages they strive to have what they had
the conductor collects the passengers into a meaningless state
a place over there that we want to call “good”
we in the hometown are overheated and undercooled
we offer a turbo meter for a metric ton
gauges to monitor the moving parts
just solid metals with claims as one
no separation from land to ocean
a natural destination to test the spirit
the water has become too old
sand permeates the layers
i take responsibility for my toes
drilling signs to exempt the bicycle rider
mask the rules marked on old metal signs, the salty breath peels-back a message;
Abstract ideas will never age and never be understood
falsely
a good thing coming
a good thing if you can hold me in one place
neighbors issue a complaint going on 3 days
pulled from the sky
planted in my green chair
retreat with a curse;
undeniably accepting the street’s address has more meaning than themselves
it's calculably owned and respected
numbers always win
sequentially counting the road's passage
i am another fixture in a line of leaves where even the oaks have more to say
take away the limitless interpretations of a smile
and the human reaction cannot be broken
somewhere there’s a rule book lost for the common sense of man
for these individuals the dimensions of a rectangle can sometimes resemble that of a triangle
these inconsistent words flow in the air; clear as hydrogen
a match would only ignite the fumes of frustration
there is no science that explains this function
we rely on female intuition
these senses are true
a firm well-being
it’s an evolution that alters what we define as separate
it is the ultimate body mark
a widespread voice of strength
the animals will delight in how pleasant the humans have become
comprehension will be unconscious

\

camping under the dream
down a twisted wrinkle
loose feet in touch with a calm river
beating a rhythm for each and every listener
opportunity between hopeful advances
considering the invested risk
a tiny sliver angled at a paining point
the past rolls in with every chance it gets
i wish to forget the reminders
eliminate these very real events
replace me with blankness
i embark away from peripheral avenue
the question arises and I will not wait for discussion
throw this body for as many miles and for as many days
to a word that brings an end to the haunting

\

pigs
catching up and making more clouds
hover again in the breath of wheezing
not now and not before
come be dizzy
squeal exhaust in the idle rush
no photograph to dictate the events and days
another sound surrounding a hurdle
pennies in the bank, cracked twice and glued twice
the cement rolls through sight keeping back real release
offset an automated return
howl long do the birds carrying heavy stones
    I’m not the one to turn round switching chairs
waiting for the next event to get attention
go back to Morrisey
an engine stops this old house no more

\