Day after day
The sad beauty.
Watching the little girl
Ooze out of you

I need to decided which one I like.
No I don’t.

Every day every look every word.
Every moment wasted
Tanks filled, sitting.
Beautiful works of art collecting
Dust in warehouses.
Transfers of power.
Not even ink on paper
Fleeting bursts of energy
Obligitorily touched
By expendable employees

The dream informs the nightmare
Every abuse is a snowflake
Sometimes we lie
When we tell the truth
What if the Morning Pages
Are the poem?

These old feelings
Like books
And grand sailing ships,
Clear windows of glass
To new worlds,
Now something different,
Heavy
Chains around the neck
Running through sand
Disguising the path
Inspire by the masochism
To totally different worlds
All good