egoistic ecosystems

(“One is still what one is going to cease to be and already what one is going to become. One lives one’s death, one dies one’s life.” – Jean-Paul Sartre)

 

from realms of rectification

i took extended vacations

i’ve lain to waste the cut and paste

and did so without any haste

 

i hoed the row with gilded spade

and journeyed deep into the fade

i held soft hands without a plan

and drank the poet’s one night stand

 

i’ve watched the sea extinguish suns

with california wild west guns

my home was there if home’s a word

we name the place we are interred

 

fact or fiction simply diction

faith requires crucifixion

i finger fucked the fallen duck

then threw its corpse in garbage trucks

 

i’m never writing to offend

confused why you can’t comprehend

the words i write as clear as ghosts

this isn’t travel with signposts

 

just stagnation without swirls

and i recite the lack of twirls

close your mind or open it

either way it’s all just shit

 

and after all is always shared

the kernel truth is no one cares

causality finality

there is no you in the word me

 

***