You couldn't figure out how to say it;
it would never come out naturally.
You knew you'd die eventually,
but your friends didn't seem to act like it.

So you went to work.

And it would bug you, from time to time..
Crawling out of your own skin, in the middle of the night.

Something other than being everyone else;
still incredibly confused as to why anyone would try.

Spinning slightly, between hyperbole north, and hyperbole south,
spitting things out:

One was the pharmacy
you promised the daughter of a daughter you could fashion a briefcase out of plastic bags
if she promised to help you;
then you explained,
this was pretty much it as far as you were concerned.

Not a whole lot more to look forward to, but at least you two could look professional in each other's ending eyes.


Work is incredibly important to me.
It's going to change me significantly.
For the better:
teach me to grow.
selling bullshit to bullshit people
is a good thing; you'll figure it out.
And you'll never know any better.
Know anything about them or them about you.

Because you are entirely full of shit, constantly.
You are entirely full of shit constantly.

You are entirely full of shit, constantly.

I hear a lot of people talking about the way people are tracked into certain positions, tracked into certain professions, tracked into certain blue collar kinds of skills and things like that. I guess you can be tracked into those kinds of positions if you ask somebody what they think you can do. But if you just decide for yourself what you want to do and just go do it, you don't have to ask anybody.

And you can't be stopped.

old friend's sold home
old friend's sold home
kept me awake last night.

to be fair, I was there
they left their water running
they left their daughter running

no one ever told you
you could change everyone
but you knew.

Thanks to James. 

I knew with an announcement drawing near
left at the footsteps of salt tracks toward your bed
brought closer by the heat index of parents everywhere that left us, or you:

I've tried this.
I knew what it was like, four or five seconds in.
Spun like a catacomb.
Wrapped like an aunt's christmas tree remnants,
aim for the bottom.

Yesterday afternoon somebody in a serious tone turned seriously to ask me if I'd be born.
Be, not been, as if I hadn't already;
maybe wanted to, but needed help.

the creatures around here leave themselves almost daily
and from another town over your landlord holds up a sign with marker that says you'll get used to "pay'n".

Would you still wake a sleeping child to give them medication?
In so much as everything is only ever, a collection of other things?
The most important way, you can make someone feel is:

Act curious, for questions you know the answers to.

you are so thrown away
yesterday I found a cliff with two names on him
a pyramid scheme, if you knew better
a set of rectangle clouds, otherwise
so that every morning you'd promise, subconsciously
to do the same thing
so that we can draw you in circles time and time again

sometime after I dropped them off skydishes told my pocket vibration was considerable
my children left at some private school
my thigh turning colors in my mind
voices on a similiar or other line told me
my chest was bleeding now or eventually
tempted me to fall off, pull over after a red
drive forever
incredibly overwhelmed at the notion of ending or ends
trends in today's nuclear family climate showing
the opposite of positive outcomes
curveballs thrown by liberal pacifists frustrating
strangling
leaving little to no doubt we'd all miss
we'd all mess
leave little and forget the rest
dressed down
inside out
around temples built for halfwits
there really is little left now
you pay your debts to yourself
your dreams have you between a lock and a tight space and
the last time you wake up there's still no key underneath your pillow

though

the first time you go to sleep you won't remember much
the first time you fall asleep and come back with an idea
well, now you know, it's safe to say
nostalgia or hope or poloroids
you'll carry those heavily
roll over in bed
choose a memory to take with you
keeper for the sun's time

and just maybe

very noble
being part of something the point of which you can not fathom
nor bother to try to understand your motivation
in exchange for instant gratification
and the illusion of a righteous purpose

sometime within there scattershot time holders remind me
private school ends eventually
shortly before three
which leaves me late and makes plenty waiting unexplained
unexplained waiting