All in all every day is the same. Look at the image. Watch the image change. Ask of the eight ball some tired question.

It was good seeing you. Come back later. You’re welcome anytime.

Drive a Porsche. Silver bus passes. This is the coffee station and I’m feeling weird. Wired.

Words could start tripping over themselves to get their best ideas out to me, a formal unraveling confession. The person who listens. I don’t appreciate you enough.

Drive the theory home. Small town womb. Gator belly swell. Walk along the backs and stones for the dream.

The flag that is a pain in your ass you see a doctor for. Strangers mailed you an insurance card. You rent your life. Pay for pictures of a pond.

Friends are stagnant and hidden, tucked away under folds, in a place like New Jersey, friends are still beautiful and eloquent under fire.

Turncoats not forgotten. Every era we consider the extraordinary, but we need our rest, we need our reset, not to feel too raw like Ohio. Coming soon. Make you this sandwich. A once in a lifetime deal. Harm’s way. Coming soon. Acquire fame and bodyguards.

Money in the left boot. In the bag. Gimme the bag. Baker’s dozen. Two dozen doughnut holes. Three thousand percent. Mindless chatter. Blood spatter analysis. Studio apartment over some garage.

Two men nodding along the side, the one falling forward, the other yammering on and on, the other, the first man, falling forward, into a circle, into a circle curling into a swirl and opening up. Falling forward. The second man without pause, yammering on, going long.

Mowed down people lose something essential. Some of us mow them down for fun. I know because I sense it that we can be better people to other people and better to ourselves without the evil.

Tapering off at the pinnacle. The author decides. Should we run a replay? We teach each other to learn to laugh at our tragedies while we remain in shock, while we sleep in hospitals, ghosts in shells, ghosts in vending machines, ghosts in screen savers and grave yard shift games of solitaire.

Stench in the wind. Bible salesman also selling knives knocking on your underground silo door. The cost is more. The Old Testament is old. The New Testament is also old.

What I said a minute ago is now two minutes ago when you get this old. Next batter up. You can use this for that. The day is long in the tooth. At the end of the day it’s the same day, the same one. You’ve already done it all before. You’ve been the butcher receiving vows. Water damage. The lady vanishes. Commits a heinous act.

Everything is a mirror projecting more of the dream. Bitches of dream. Brought low. Reconfigure. Call Art Bell late at night. Smart phone. Dumb battery. And application suites are suburban gangs.

You witness the unreal. Smart and alone. Prison prone. Prison isolation. Broken men and women. This broken thing. Portion of a leg.

If you befriend and save crawfish during the event you will lose your current friends. Something to consider. Some webs are complex. Walk a tight rope made of egg shells. Make pretend.

Change is the same. The cashier counts you all the way back to the bill you forked over.

Social media is performing a social experiment. It recognizes faces and knows they won’t always have smiles on them.

It builds a following into a political state.

Darling remind me not to have house envy. This is a simple evening stroll. Alright already.

The story that unfolds as it is retold unrolls differently.

Categorized as Poetry

By bgkarma

BGK is a revolutionary in the mind frame of intention with vibrational swim and entertainment snack to promote edutainment and self empowerment by use of multiple brains or servers to go next level.

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