as narcissus is turned

sync
clap when you land
it's not like it's a secret

(how could it be a secret - everyone knows, everyone knows you're crazy, you see, and you're tearing your hair out to make your mind wear out its circuits and patterns and never-ending trackits of where went and when checked and feeling so hen-pecked, but you're relying right now on generosity which is given by people who trust and who must, but don't worry so much about how-why they must, which you could never, oh you could never)

anne of green gables
the count of monte cristo
the picture of dorian gray

(the picture of record you sold your own soul to, to ensure that the atrophy of the world couldn't touch it, wouldn't budge it, that your image in abstraction would be an exaction, so concerned with rightness that you forget to measure righteousness, and how could you ever, you could never, you could never)

the canterbury tales
leaves of grass
milk and honey

(that eversweet frivolity of selling yourself as your thoughts in completion, sweaty excretion, because you'd love to share and show yourself, but then yourself is not only your self, and you're selling yourself to be up on a shelf, and you're losing control, you could never, you could never ever)

i capture the castle

(infinite castle, a place in the sky, a place you can imagine in tile and paper and carpet all laid by the rod of your sign, your design for your life which lacks all intrication while every little day is in-fine-it irritation, and you wish you could sit on the sinkside and ponder but you can't because you're on a twin bed out of state and this is what you never planned for, you could never, you could never)

image, check: three eye bee exe
forget it later, on goes on

(i will try to try forever. i will try to last forever. my will, forever...forever.)

social security took care of-- my bad
we saved your password, all you ever had

you'll throw it out and make a test
but the craze of inspiration that comes
you'll change forever, if only to forget
set yourself hoping for the best to come yet

you want only yourself to have yourself
and that's alright, if yourself you can be
but it's not so easy to be a closed system

the jenga tumble birthed from slipping blocks
because you made yourself so stupidly fragile
you made yourself lacking of internal frame

and the jenga tower speaks to power
no truth, no trusting, on the hour
slide it out, slick sweet and sour

and i'm going, going, gone