Grumble
grumble
the mind
it wanders the streets of dynamite
alone.
Setting off fire works of construction
bubbling
up to the conscious that consumes
phone screens of instant memorabilia.
We wait
for nothing
faster than the speed of light sound barriers are turtled in history
we move
faster than we can keep up with
the blur of wasted Saturday afternoons on the porch creates
a canvas of smeared green and sunset
to feel must be but a second or
self destruction commences in the form of self medication.
I write.
In the form of self medication, I write.
allesor 