We walk along the boundary between the places
where we’re going and the others we’re afraid
to leave behind. Although it’s more about the feeling
of being stuck inside and unable to grow.
I want to know what I can do beyond just driving
the same cross streets everyday without a way
to stop whats eating all the people I imagine.
I am more comfortable in mirages and all their solar
powered psychedelic flash cards without answers
on the back.
The T.V. is a trap and we have always known
this was the case. We are invaded everyday
from the cold edge of space where computers
are just levitating orbs that don’t require touch.
Still, the answers aren’t important and if one day
everyone in the suburbs just decides its time
to take a little break. We might discover
where we’ve been was a mistake.
An old neighbor found me after years of having
never seen her face, and she told me that she wanted
me to come back into town and paint her house.
I vaguely remember painting it one time when I was younger,
and her whole point was that it worked so well the first time.
I politely refused her for the reason I was kind of moving on.
Then she was gone out in the world again and the next time
I would hear about her; her head would be split open while
a shower ran above her draining all the blood she had
right down the drain.
What does that raw material feel like held in a hand,
or can it even be held at all? Will every question that we answer
be another wall of things we have to break apart and put right back
together? The cities make less than nothing now but still have
their built in fangs that filter back out through all the fences
and the farmland. The age of building towers higher than
made sense to in the first place will be replaced with taking
something that was old and breathing death inside
to bring it back alive.