Aye Aye

2 make sense of it all. i fear believe there is no cents. it's just a dream. whether wake or in the game of sleep. the mind is a brilliant cleaver tricky SOG. who knows what lies within it's machinery. i fear believe we in this day and AGE we are drifting farther and farther from the starting point and the homing beacon is growing weaker and weaker. we rely on papers electronically attached instead of words cleverly hatched. the times we see the wrinkles in each others face to know each others hearts are getting fewer and farther between.


outside my window i hear the wild sounds of laughter and pain. doing the best with what's given with nothing to gain. yet the sounds go on much too long. the pain creates an amnesia of the memory it is time to go to bed. aluminum cans in hand the party fades from joy to anger, with sense flying away just to find a little bit of peace.

it's quiet now, but i'm awake. or am i quietly lucidly zzzleeping.