goodness

a poem 

is never 

good

goodness

comes

edit Oedipus

when

take

whats 

got

change

ur

frign

word

ha!

black octopus

who am

i

writing

to

i

can't

recall

remember

yesterday

the edge

of

the world

everyones

word

mingled

memory

for a

moment

the rest

of us

remembered

the rest

of it

who

cares

about millennia

decades

here now

frozen

forever

golden

frozen

golden

forever

Abandon all Stations

Stumbling
Over Dissidence
It ends

Right Here and Now

Credit economy
Crumbling
Chemical Red tides

Surging LSD
in Water Supplies

Decaying

soft tissue

Bones & Teeth

Necromantic
forces
Indiscriminately

Extract - Utilize - Discard

Behind Each
Random Awareness
We Write

In Large,
Bold
Capital Letters

FUCK YOU!!

Through Continual
Introspection
And

Subversion
Dismantle
And

Reconnect
All Subtext

Open All
Possibilit(y)ies

The Shit
Is lit

notes of a junkie

How fortunate this addiction.
I rarely write of it.
I'm always reminded of it.
There's always a place for it.
Addiction is a word we
hardly understand.
There are more words for it in
other languages
I am told. It's odd.
I've never admired it in other
ways or in other people.
Its not something
I fully understand
and even in speaking of it,
I still only allude to it.
It's not glorification, or denial.
It's only a problem if I allow
it to be. It's like a drug but not grown,
synthesized
or processed. It is created,
listened to, painted,

photographed,
contemplated, and enjoyed.
It is newly discovered;
it's an old welcomed friend.
It's something of my own,
but much greater.
It is an honor to know, I know.