as population increases
apathy increases
traffic is a good example
of thinking patterns
branded for eternity
self-perpetuating chemicals
look like night winds
and complex exit ramps,
forgotten bridges

my station's faces revolve.
i've seen them before.
how many times opening my backpack?
if i found a way to unhinge these windows,
this would be my favorite car, we'd enter castles
cross fields.
the windows are glued.
they are just acting in a plays or movies on vhs.
what if i didn't get off my stop for work?
something like a neon green tube diminishing in my chest.

you work for a corporation

that you feel eats away at your soul

you continue to work there because

you don't think corporations can eat souls

you do think that the time you spend

at the office is waste of time

it is not scary that you will one day

have to struggle with a massive amount of

lost time,

it is scary that if you were to work

towards a promotion

you would not be protecting your soul

you would be replenishing it

you are a person just like lots of other people

who do not require strange skills in order

to sense the loss of a soul

so you continue to work

out of respect for the millions

of other people who at one time or another

might have had similar thoughts

you are somehow destined to see the world

in a different light

i have a beard
someone said i should grow it
it was started before they said grow it
and i'm indifferent
but i guess i grew it cause they said grow it
even though it makes me feel dirty
and itchy
so now i wash my face every time i go to the bathroom
and my skin gets a little dry
the temperature which has dropped for winter
has added to the dryness
but i feel good anyway
the person told me i can shave it
i like this person

an authentic, hand-made iron book stand
emits a green light
which i sit quietly in
while engines surge through
portions of a concrete maze

the piano song you put on
made me think of authentic moments
which stood on the backs of snails

these images feel productive
fading out of the mind of a semi-normal,
medium-productive 25 year old caucasian

the lateral structure
a lot of small snails are crawling
on doesn't allow speed or surprise
to produce a new kind of salt

a bear wakes up but doesn't open it's eyes.

he feels a man's voice moving through the darkness 

of his brain.

the voice rests then becomes a laugh.

the laugh feels like a bright human

preparing sandwiches for a day hike

the bear, in the form of a young boy, joins the the voice and people who have been his good friends

since unknown periods of time, for the day hike.

the boy feels good climbing the mountain

and does it in record time for someone his age

when they eat lunch at the top there are tourists to laugh at

in the canoes on the way back,

the boy realizes he must return to bear form

he stares into the mysterious water for a prolonged period of time

he forgets this fact,

when a stern man holding a hammer 

follows their canoe from a dock nearby

with his head.

the eyes look like caves.

as the bear lies in bed incidents from the day unfurl

and hang on a laundry line, like white sheets

he doesn't pause to consider it totally bad or good

my mcdonalds fountain soda cup feels skeptical

sitting on the coffee table, washed in the light

of the television,

thinking 'i want to say things that make people feel better,'

'i want to be freer' and 'should i be doing things differently 

in order to achieve those things?'

i think my fountain soda cup decides to just act natural.

the fountain soda still inside remains below room temperature.

the ice cubes in the fountain soda are partially melted

and have become beautiful abstract blades.

what these blades cut, 

have cut themselves again

and again throughout the annals of antediluvian goddesses.

in an effort to write poems like the poems i like reading
my emotions have become detached.

i can trace feelings of idleness within my recent past.

removing the garbage bag from the basket
disturbs a family of fruit flies.

i am exceptional at killing individual members of the family
throughout the next week.

within that week, i spend an insignificant amount of time 

staring out a window at the corner of a school building that rises over the adjacent trees.

the school specializes in string instrument instruction. 

the school is confused, sad, and taciturn.

the music school playground aides
juggle cases of violin/cello collisions.

if you can't understand how the school came to be,
i don't blame you.

a fear of collapsing bridges has me in the similar straights.

i feel sorry for the elevators.

i feel they should get a break.

relentless use of the elevators 

impairs their functional design.

one result of the impairments startles someone

riding the elevator.

the person hears a bang while riding.

the bang sounds like a lawn mower bumping into

a metal shed. 

the metal shed in this metaphor has made other appearances.

the appearances take place in either strange lives,

or foil seemingly eternal backgrounds,

all of which are composed of matter

predating, in one form or another,

the most violent trench warfare battles of ww1.

the shadows walking through door frames promote sleep.

it's 4 am. i feel tired but want to stay awake for a half more hour.

i'm drinking a blueberry smuttynose.