On top of Green Acres April ‘04

 

Music fills my space

       A fight for company upon strangers, species unknowing

So much being the avoidance of thought

Entertainments of movies, of lectures, of you

       Get the information. Think later

Thinking is being is creating is meaning is my reason

An automaton

       Mr. robot man finds himself on top of a pile of nothingness 

 Out of breath. Asleep while awake.

A limited time

       A bell screams. Times up

Minutes and hours and repetition

       My mindless distraction

Its place is the pit where combustion has its meal

Find the latter

     Lift right left thigh . sit on top. Thinking rock      

The expedition for questions

     For happiness and depression

All put in one box

The ants will climb their tree

    Leave their gifts and hide away

And I think:

    I will give O₂. I will give compassion. 

    A smile when tickled.  I will give a propagated life.

    I will give warmth in crowds. A stick of gum

But eyes they look and look

    For open doors in other beings

Whiteness so bright I search for black

Yell with clenched fists at the leader

Look to your left and right and see the same color

Still thinking:

A mixture of worlds

     with razors poking everywhere

Hold the blender on still till further instruction

Until a melodic hymn vibrates in sync

And no cries heard just music