9-05-97

Truth.

(Back to purging through old materials. It is painful to see how much some of my old stuff sucked, but this is quite a cathartic experience looking at pieces of whatever was going on in my head at that time. Regardless of the good and/or bad, its part of where I am at now. Plus…it helps lessen the load of the green accordion file from where it was extracted. Enjoy. or not.)

It isn’t easy…

having a mind.

So much time to think;

Too little to wait.

Too many worries;

Too many dreams;

Too many decisions;

Too many schemes.

It ain’t easy…

having a mind.

I would rather have the morning.

I’d rather have the night.

I’d rather have a running stream.

or maybe a garden

full of vegetables.

Just fit right in with the rest of them.

No mind to worry;

to grow;

to make up thoughts;

to remember —

all the shit that goes with living.

All the mistakes.

The words spoken.

The hearts broken.

All the shit that goes with living.

All the bottles smashed.

All the autos crashed.

All the lives I’ve trashed.

Although I may not recall

It all

seems just a blur.

A broken wing.

A tattered blanket

blowing on an empty clothesline.

A bar at the end of the night.

Sometimes it gets so lonely…

having a mind.

I cannot explain it.

I cannot refrain it.

Philosophies.

Dreams.

Pornography

seems

a joke to those who don’t use it.

The mind, that is.

I cannot escape

a zoning that creeps up behind me.

Whether in class

or at work,

I cannot escape it.

Groping me down.

Thinking ’bout the mantle,

or the core of earth.

How I wish I was one

in some garden.

 

 

quiet-people-have-the-loudest-minds-stephen-hawking
Truth.

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