Dragged into a reality where I craved and sought time and strength. Feeding the perpetual engines of my heart, I left wandering the constant avenues and stabile boulevard in search of smoother roadway and greater indenture to the excitement that lit my sensibility. I am conquest in reverse, the devolution of a thing once perfect hiding itself among the lackluster, seeking brilliance by inclusion and suffering for health’s muse. There are no starlit nights for man who has not reason. Stalling in the blocks shaking off the clock whispering to the union docks don’t tie off too long for the venture must continue.

In my eager attitude and thirst for failure I sought low spots, dumbs and depths and power wells into which treasured essence flows. Worry about what when all is to be spent on irregular pursuit and random hunting. Seeking what for whom for which reason however it may be accomplished. With pleasure my pumping heart weeps against the folly of their betrayal. Learnt, felled and spelled for all to see the same lesson ad infinitum. Repetitive splendor in dependency. Always relying upon the cord that without sufficient girth or tensile modality to make it through the weather we’ll be facing. Lies, dyes and tears outside our eyes as each man cries about the fantasy he fought for. Against the breeze of my next pleasure and hope designed to take my car from rail, I fall in perpetuity. These are not wells of wisdom and reserve of understanding but wasted duality of mooring and forcing friction from the shore. This creates its own nightmare for nightly viewing.

Eschewing the dark I vomit light, thanking all that is right for my daylight insight, when caught in dream I fall palsied before expectation and foolish fantasy. Pictures of the elements I created only sham as all is torn asunder as covalent bonds broken reveal the shining object lodged within the realm of unqualified thinking. Undone by the best or the worst as happenstance yells it. Lured to the lair of thirst and hunger, to be eaten and drunk by the giants of my folly. No smooth stones, no battle cry no service to Great King or brining harvest homeward, but the strict diet of busted hope and lassoed Dream. I scream at the machine incapable of rage and a sage looks inward to find the docile center. Withered by the sun at post, haggard, outcast, at peace in my palsied pacification, praying for another dose of acquiescence and dilatant. these things view the loss as pleasure and the pain as realization of fully living asunder. A grenadier without pin having fumbled delivery awaiting the blast of approaching timeline.

I found the switch and made the getaway to some one else’s dream scape. Launching quiescent fast to pay for my quo with quid I had to borrow. Release the hounds who never a ghost did rally and high pitched shriek as dusk gives way to night. And on the porch where fishermen recall the days when they were knighted we alone find comfort in the Call.