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Its misty today--cold, windy, wet.
If I am to be heard
Then these are the days my sound is the sky;
Flat and undefined.
All the worries in life and the insecurities
Seem to disperse over me evenly
Like the rain blanketing over a window;
Vibrating and abstracting my vision.
I attempt to swipe a clearing.
A kid sized amount of questions begin to swell
Like a saturated cloud.
Ready to pour forth in feisty naivety.
Can this feeling that makes me smile
Be seeded--dropped in a landfill:
A desert flower growing through broken seams of an
abandoned tank,
Ones and zeros orchestrating the last reproduction of
the Mona Lisa?
Can we alter what we perceive with belief?
If I focus faith on a Superman hard enough to skip a
beat
Will my heart make him true,
Will he rescue me when I take my last fall?
Are we something more than illusory, fiction;
Born to interrogate our resolve?
Perhaps if my thoughts possessed a machine;
Memories copied and pasted
With no human dreams or emotional “error”,
Will i still poison the Earth or myself
For profit, for bankers, for Gods?
With no need for possessions, expression or self;
Or feeling the touch of people--
Will I no longer say, “I love you”?
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Assuming i’m separate from machines or large
crowds
When I die losing hue like the ceiling of storm
clouds,
Will my shape simply change form
Like the drops that fall and give rise
To small streams ~ flowing and drawn together;
Growing into large rivers?
Will my absence change peoples minds?
Will it matter the seeds of happiness that were
mine?
Will solving these inquiries soften
My debt to time or whatever can be organized
By ever changing everything?
Cold, windy, wet--
Its missing today, the emptiness of thought;
The acceptance of absurdity.
I want to be just--momentum;
Feverish kinetic strength to carve canyons;
To wash away human intervention;
Cured of my crazy senseless justification,
Cured of all anthropomorphic almighties,
Cured of my consciousness,
leaving only purity and purpose
Or perhaps,
Something I can’t comprehend.
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