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my audience
that the thoughts and subsequent words I draw upon this stage
have become stagnant,
repeating of themselves.
I don't consider my words poetic,
in any sense, in my own decay.
I speack as the brain fires it's neurons into the pattern I type before you, casting fingers and gifts
along this dead end path.
Broken hearted shall break their shoes against the wilderness
stalwart many carry their swords
and shields against the river,
streams, currents of the thoughts/words
the pour out of an elevation,
scratch that, a streamed conciousness.
don't be misguided by anything tempting,
even words sink deep while washing you
away from you,
cull your words to you,
a smile that you can only gift
to you.
live for you and your love,
LIVE
LOVE
and please do not number each day.
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