go to bed

go to bed each night

and dreaming of that day

some of this gets seen

go to bed thinking

it could be the night

when someone

on the other side

of the world stumbles upon

these thoughts and find

something worth reading

a chance if nothing else

to be read and it might be silent

but not afraid of what others

might think or say

guess I don’t care anymore

pressure and I may crack

the picture frame is crooked

hanging on the wall

and it’s the river in autumn

no idea which river

or where it might be headed

or coming from now on

he too will be silent

in his pursuit of—

what were the goals told to be attainable?

just getting to work on time

is sometimes a struggle

tried to tell him not to get stuck here

in this wage slavery system

nearly everyone stuck the same

struggling to get by

no idea who painted the idea

can’t read the signature

maybe it’s all a big fake…

hours pass

hours pass and believing

in the self becomes

job one

nothing should matter more

so much does

he probably hasn’t eaten

in hours pass and he becomes

something the self can’t stand

alone on his own

without support he might fall over

hard to the ground

or below and who might tell

him he is facing in the wrong direction

essentially walking backwards

there is no longer a goal to be attained

at a height unimaginable to most

he sits cross legged how can

he make any decisions in this state

of confusion even chaos would be

welcomed change and how many more

years of war can we endure before

the republic is taken back by the people…

better than defeating the self

such a large stack of thought

all my own some would say

self-absorbed but trying to

encourage the self

and isn’t that far better

than defeating the self

realizing the power of the self

lies within us all

to reach unlimited heights

such a large stack of thought

no one even believes

it is worth the time or energy spent

better off doing something else

instead of running pens dry

and arm sore from too much self

absorbed thought

such a large stack of thought

to burden all these pages

the scent of herb in the air

silence swirls like the smoke

forces an eye squint a bit

but everything is crystal clear

the path is laid out in front

but the transportation mode

still remains the question

such a large amount of thought

for such an average size guy

smaller than the size of the room

where he will continue to pile

these thoughts…

back to the days of automatic

back to the days of automatic writing
whatever is popping into the head
smoke fills the kitchen
it's still winter and he can't open the door
sixty-four ounces of coffee
cannot be a healthy diet
good thing he isn't running for office
too many nervous habits
and sometimes leaves his
sweatshirt on he is always
got a lid covering what some might
dread black book and a smoky kitchen
producing pages of free thought
nothing is free they will say
it's a leap year and what do they all know anyway time for change
not a pocket full of coin
the kind that can take time to occur
not the type spent in second
that broke not that kind of change
back to the days but they're tearing down
the spot making room for something new
change is hard for many to attain
yet so easy to find as he walks
around remembering all the spot
she forgot the late night snow walk
downtown everyone is looking
then he rolls up escorted by two men
change for those behind
and words are only thoughts expressed
back to the days pep talk to push
himself into the corner
thoughts automatic like his foot falling asleep if he crosses
his legs automatic like a red light
at every corner when he is in the car
and has to pee...