he knows this. he can sense it.
someone is lying.
Earth that keeps on revolving,
the foolish human consciousness,
I was left out, broken car.
(broken by me)
broken by my need to feel more than just metallic skin.
and it’s always the same,
it always ends with repetitive acts
of needs, cravings, creeds,
personal intentions masked as good deeds.
Wisdom comes and sits by my side,
a sculpture of the finest material made by Greeks of old.
brown olive in color, graceful,
the center of attention wherever it goes,
behind the clay, hiding–
this matters! – but only when awake.
other times with it you create daffodil fields
to hide from your mind what your mind craves.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
30 minutes are enough, I guess.
lost in the memoirs of each cobbled stone
lies an unimportant truth
never spoken before.
overflown with ideas of ideas,
details that make no sense
unless they’re in a whole.
S M O K E