early sunday morning, sitting in a chair,
drinking tap water from a yellow mug.
i've sworn not to go past underwear,
and my mind is tapped like a girl post-frug.
there's an owl i've spent sixty hours looking for,
but my materialism sparks to a bowl of flaxseed more.
everything i thought i'd wanted hidden in some box,
but it turns out my mind is drawn more to the things i've never done,
or dreamed of doing.
i dream of doing when i dream of doing nothing.
i dream of nothing when i dream of making something,
out of nothing.
i dream of making something out of nothing,
when i dream of doing; doing nothing.
fallacy at face value for the heretics at my door;
a policy of malcontent; of ever-changing yore.
i give them what i dream of and they huddle close for more--
they dream of me.
it's what i make, it's what i give;
hypocrisy, prophynol, fake memories.
No comments:
Post a Comment