one light above
making the page writable
don’t think eye would care
anyway the thoughts don’t stop
the words don’t stop appearing
on the page even if eye struggle
to see eyes struggle to see
any point in this direction
cyclical and eye want to move forward
and not just on the wheel to nowhere
quick thoughts like camera flashes
at a sporting event
somehow connected through words
doing no good when no one
hears them spoken
waiting to be read
if anyone has any time left
misanthropic is the storm approaching
eye never know what to believe
until right underneath it
getting hammered by wind and rain
and solitude only increases
the intensity of the eye
can’t track with a radar
don’t know how to work it
into a conversation
that might never happen
no one really wants to hear the voice
at this point silence is probably best
that’s where it all began
when nothing meant nothing
means anything too late
no explanation necessary
everything explains itself
when eye sit with it long enough
time to find the void
to become it and destroy it…
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