I only wanted to be here for 6 months.
Everything changed.
Belief in chaos
resurrected in the assurance
of adversity.
The inability for the consistency
proves futile
in the efforts of
regulation and reason.
Planning therefore
must be treason
to the name of present
insistence
blistered lips
and black nails
tangible trails
of a life
attempting living
dancing around the flame
of forget
and penance.
One cannot
raise
the ancient
from the dead
with raccoon cries
and smoldering alibis
when the road east
goes left
and chanting doesn't
summon the second
third coming
empty handed
philosophy
spoken
sunrise sunday
in the heart of fake
waning for mourning break
when scent captures
coat tails and
a disappearing tradition
grasping grasping
the transition
of the cosmic slave