Waking up each day to a world turned inside out,
A clocktower is my Navy moon... indeed every hour means so much to me.
And I miss the things that are valuable. Strange that my entire life has been spent persuing all things odd and ending- while the enduring; which still remains, has now become the freedom in my imaginings.
There's a new word for it all.
I would never have imagined how bittersweet has marked the ending of all that I thought was sure. Yet comically, ironically, this isn't the first time.
To all who I thought so much; so long.
I guess tonight I give up; I don't care anymore.

I ponder who lives in the real world...
I wonder what is the real world...

The midnight negligee of Chicago on a rainy Friday, or the naked hills of Kansas in ashen hermitude; a different dream; perhaps to metaphor a pervert's fantasies.

And on the days like these, when the sky falls heavy on my shoulders and I realize how utterly bankrupt I am, I admit it.
And it's ok, when I'm not, it is still ok.
Tomorrow is another day.

Terrible tension in a war of wills; stilled
In a body;
Setting silently, to the side
Not quite deciding on motion

The body being a material
And action being to refine

The mind
seeking its divine straight line
To