Sept 15 2007

my wineskins are impossibly threadbare
beneath the weight goes another string
as the other bewildered parts gasp and grip tighter
the flow goes out with less and less hindrance

the battle of the deafeningly silent supposed inquisition
is fought with sanity
to stave off a crash
I dawdle with self-deception
once loosing the guard and taking it up again
jarring the cycle of bind and de-bind, and bind
spending slumberless vain hours wrapping packages
only to be opened by another and deemed unnecessary

remarkability is lost and surprise gone
nothing is new except what I have come to expect
and not acting a-fool
my paradigm is cursed with qualia
my mind and tongue at odds
parasitic in their relation

my wineskins are impossibly threadbare
beneath the weight goes another string
as the other bewildered parts gasp and grip tighter
the flow goes out with less and less hindrance
shouldn't it be a good thing?