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misstree
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i keep shoving piles to and fro
trying to cast out bucketfuls of downfall
and my room crumbles around me
and i forget who i am
lose what i'm doing
but i know there are few systems
made of straight lines. they are
spirals and waves and overlapping entities,
and my walls are losing old components
as i get in a few lucky digs at this
stagnant innerouter incarnation.
i want to say that i'll dig day and night until
hell and happiness breaks loose, i'm back
and all is right with the world,
but how about i do what i can, and
try not to beat myself up when i don't,
and celebrate when i do.
innerouter of this form is a difficult
beast to battle, being made of nothing,
of willessness, of slow sleeping suffocation,
clinging mist seeping into struggling coals.
but with the demons of caffeine
lending me their tridents and twitches,
i'll knock some of the stuffing out of this
pile of wet wool that is my room, that is my mind.
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061019
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